


Rey Winchester and the Battle For Hogwarts

by Huffle_puppy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24935992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huffle_puppy/pseuds/Huffle_puppy
Summary: Audrey Winchester tries her best to survive 7th year after the death of Dumbledore and the second rise of Voldemort.(Written by Huffle_puppy; original concept, illustrations, and OC belonging to skydrew)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 87





	1. The Astronomy Tower

*** The Astronomy Tower ***

**D** umbledore was falling.

  
She didn’t realize it until afterwards--too long afterwards--but the streak of white plummeting to earth past her peripheral gaze drew her eye. She stuck her head out of the hallway window, glancing out with a curious frown, because “something white” did not just fall out of the high tower every day--  
Her eyes caught his image just in time as his body hit the stone courtyard below.  
His beard had trailed upwards with his robes. His eyes were staring up at the night sky, and reflections of stars shimmered in his half-moon glasses, slowly turning green above. He seemed to have a melancholy ambivalence about him, as if he were well aware of his predicament and unbothered.  
And then Albus Dumbledore disappeared in a cloud of dust and red, and Audrey Winchester realized exactly what it was she had seen, and let out a scream.

  
*** * ***

  
A flash of lightning filled Rey’s room as she flailed awake in bed. The remnants of her scream ricocheted back along the walls before a peal of thunder joined it. Rain splattered the house, threatening to send it off into the ocean, spreading teary faces over the panes of her window-glass.  
Her heart raced; her breath threatened to break her lungs--  
Heavy footsteps outside, then--  
“Rey!” Sam said, throwing open the door of her room first, almost stooping lower to make it past the frame. “Rey--?”  
Dean shoved past him, rushing to her bedside. He knelt down, and in an instant was holding her face in his hands, trying to make sure she was fine. He was hot and his palms were sweaty, and Rey squirmed and swatted at him.  
“Rey, talk to me; are you--?”  
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Rey managed, hearing the cracking in her voice. She hoped in vain Dean wouldn’t see the tears rolling down her face. He brushed his thumb over them, frowning.  
“What’s wrong?” John ran to the door, looking grizzly and unshaved in his wrinkled nightshirt. Sam murmured in soft tones, and John caught his breath.  
“Rey, you can talk about it,” Dean said gently. “To us; especially to us, we get it. Hardest part of the job sometimes is the dreams. Okay?”  
“I’m fine,” Rey murmured again, propping herself up on her elbows. Dean moved back immediately to give her space; even being such a big burly older brother, he was very easy to move. “M’gonna get some tea, I think.”  
“Tea’s good,” Sam said from the doorway, offering his usual polite smile.  
Rey looked up at him, standing there in his loose pajamas, then at John rubbing his face. Dean nodded in agreement. “Tea’s a great idea. I could go for some tea myself, actually.”  
“It’s going to be family tea, isn’t it?” Rey asked.  
“Probably,” Sam said.  
“Family tea at 2:57 in the morning,” John mumbled, wandering down the hallway. “Hopefully not a nightly tradition--” but the rest was cut out by a yawn.  
“C’mon then,” Dean said, offering an arm. Rey took it, tugging herself out of bed, and the Winchesters trudged downstairs to the kitchen.

The pot on the stove was hastily taken off before it could squeal with too high a pitch. Steaming hot water was poured into their cups, and Rey couldn’t help but smile at her gruff father and his weather-worn hands clutching a brightly-colored “PROUD PARENT OF A _GRYFFINDOR_!” mug.  
Sam sat down himself after pouring the drinks, Dean all the while chiding him on what a great house-husband his brother’d someday be. And then there was a soft silence in the room as they waited for the teabags to do their magic and Rey to speak.  
She looked down at the cup, hands clasped tight around it. It was hot--too hot--but she didn’t really mind that right now. The past few weeks were swirling about in her mind; all of June blurring into a single image.  
Dumbledore was falling, his white robes billowing upwards, his face placid with death.  
She let out a shuddering breath, the steam coming up and kissing her face and eyes. It was almost like being an oracle, she thought, and almost absurdly wondered if Professor Trelawney would quiz her on each of their cups after the tea had been drunk.  
“Rey?”  
John’s voice was soft and kind. Sam had remarked sometimes that she had to be their father’s favorite; he never had that sweet a tone with the boys. Dean would reply that Sam was foolish: boys had to be tough, and that would get them bickering over who cried more, obviously it’s you Dean--

_“Audrey?”_  
Her face jerked up to her father’s. John had leaned in, and his warm hand was resting on her arm. His beard was streaking with grey, finally breaking away from matching his dark eyes.  
Rey took a breath, and all at once her brow crumbled. Her shoulders sank; her face paled and heat welled up again behind her eyes.  
“I saw him die,” she mumbled. “The Headmaster. I saw him fall.”  
“In the Astronomy Tower?” John murmured. Rey nodded, looking down at her tea. It was darkening, the drink spilling out over the water like a cloud over the sun. “You can talk about it, if you want, Rey.”  
They’d known she was there. They knew the general details; the fight. Albus killed. Neville hurt. But she hadn’t told them; she’d put it off.  
In her breast, she could feel it burning. She knew it needed to come out.  
She took another deep, shuddering breath, tried to sip her tea but found it too hot still, and remembered.

Neville had whipped around as soon as his girlfriend had screamed. A moment later he was beside her, strong body pressed at her back, looking out past her at the grounds below. She had covered her mouth with her hand, and tears were forming behind her glasses--behind her she heard his breath choke up in his throat.

Then their eyes turned upwards to the Astronomy Tower, and the night sky above, blazing with vile light. The green glow caught in Rey’s large glasses, and the image seared its way into her mind:  
The Dark Mark. The serpent winding its way out of a shrieking, fire-eyed skull.  
Death had come to their school.  
Somewhere far behind her, Ginny had gasped and Luna had let out some high, surprised yelp. The world seemed to be spinning, as if she’d stepped all at once into a dream. Dumbledore dead? The Dark Mark over the Astronomy Tower? This couldn’t be happening--  
“ON YOUR GUARD!”  
The yell had come from somewhere else, and Rey looked around. Down the hall, there were members of the Order of the Phoenix, running--  
“ _Oh!_ Hello there, kiddies!”  
And that voice, that vile voice--  
She looked over just in time to see the woman descending the stairs at the end of the hall. Down from the Astronomy Tower, her black robe billowing out like smoke, hair knotted with vicious curls, eyes wide and as vicious as her crooked toothy grin.  
Then Neville had pulled Rey around behind him, blocking off her sight of Bellatrix Lestrange.  
“A girlfriend! Oh, baby boy, do yours parents know?”  
And then a male voice behind Bella’s roared. A bolt of light burst the ceiling above them--  
Neville pushed her back as the stones came down, and Rey landed in a daze on her back, her head still trying to comprehend everything happening. Dumbledore dead-- _Dumbledore dead?--_  
Stones shook the earth at her feet, and a wave of dust coated over her face. Her glasses showed the world through a filter of ashen gray, and she took them off quickly, blinking and trying to find Nev--  
Yells rolled forth, rebounding off the hard walls. The Order had pushed itself in front of the DA--she could catch the back of Professor Lupin’s back as he intercepted a bolt of red light and directed it harmlessly into the wall, shattering the stone--  
_Nev--_  
Coughing on the ground in front of her, Neville, lying amidst the fallen rocks. Debris from the ceiling muddled his black hair, and through his robes and the dust she could see scarlet blood spilling down his leg.  
Rey scrambled forwards, grabbing at the rocks and pulling them off him. Behind her, Ginny and Luna came quickly, trying to brush their friend off--  
_“AVADA--!”_  
Lupin braced himself in front of them all, readying a shield--  
Ginny yelled defiantly, hurling the stone past their former teacher. The Killing Curse cut off as the sharp CRACK! of impact sounded in the hall and the Death Eater’s head rolled back like broken clay. He stumbled--another taking his place.  
Tonks joined at Lupin’s side, hair a fire-red, shielding the students as the group of Death Eaters spilled out from the stairs into the hallway. Rey could see them better now; jet black robes almost writhing to extinguish the light--then she turned her gaze back to Neville, brushing the dust off his face. He was wincing at her touch; after a moment she saw two small cuts on his cheeks start to bleed.  
“Come on, girl; we need to get him up--” McGonagall’s voice, and Rey looked up, finding the elder witch knelt at Neville’s side as well. She grabbed hold of one arm; Rey grabbed the other, and they pulled Neville to his feet. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t stay, his legs swaying under him, then he came to his senses, shook his head, and looked around at them.  
“What’s--?”  
But the rest was cut off as the roar of spells exploded around the hall again. At the front line, Ginny had joined the Order’s side, Luna with her, and down the hallway away from the fray, Bellatrix was striding with a peal of laughter that shook the paintings in their frames.  
The Order advanced, pushing the Death Eaters further back into the hallway. McGonagall ordered something that sounded like “Get back,” but Rey could not hear it; Neville had rushed to Ginny and Luna’s side, and Rey moved quickly with him. Then there was no barrier between them and danger anymore; the twisted faces of hatred and rage and dark evil glee met her eyes.  
Fear grasped hold of her heart for a timeless second; icy fingers that gripped and squeezed. Ahead of her was no school test. Ahead of her were murderers, gleeful and looking at her as an acromantula looks at fresh meat.  
And then that fear turned into rage, burning hot rage, and time resumed--  
_“Cru--”_  
“STUPEFY!” Rey yelled before the Death Eater ahead of her could finish. His grimy eyes widened a moment and he jerked back, batting the spell aside with a barked command. He was fast, readying himself again--  
“Silencio!” she yelled, the spell bursting from her wand and hitting him smack in the throat. His curse came out as a squawk, then his eyes bulged and no more sound came out.

“REDUCTO!” Ginny yelled from Rey’s side--and the man flew backwards, tumbling down the hall like a limp sack of wheat.  
From Rey’s other side, Neville countered a hex, battling down the hallway. The group advanced, giving the Death Eaters no shelter; no reprieve--  
Suddenly Neville screamed in pain. Rey gasped, looking around--  
Behind the group, snarling with glee, a lumbering man Rey had seen in the Daily Prophet stood, hair plastered around his face like matted mangy fur, beady eyes turning to meet hers. Fenrir Greyback’s hand--his nails unkempt claws doused with crimson--swung up from Neville’s back and slashed across her cheek, stinging her vision but not cutting deep--  
The Order turned enough to spy him, starting to cast something--  
_“BOMBARDA!”_  
The yell had come with wicked resolve from down the hall, but Rey didn’t hear the final syllable. The world around her turned bright white-- a rush of heat seared against her face and chin and she realized for a moment she’d been thrown clear off her feet--  
Then the explosion deafened her and she hit the ground, feeling the earth shaking through her ears followed by a high whining hum--she blinked but her eyes weren’t registering much; the world around was a blurred mural of dampened watercolors running off the page--  
She tried to sit up, finally clinging to the wall to do so, and looked around, head swaying on her neck--  
The explosion had crippled the hallway. Chunks of fallen ceiling littered the floor like sand on a beach; dust choked the air and the singe of the fire burned into her lungs. She coughed, blinking, and the world came into sharper focus: the DA was scattered, the Order trying to hold down the fort. Greyback had been tossed to one side with the rest, but he was already on his feet, and Nev--  
_Where was Nev--?_  
The wolfman looked over to her and Rey realized she was at the end of the hallway, far away from the rest. Her hand fumbled, reaching for her wand, but it wasn’t in her grasp; she looked around the floor hurriedly, his large form starting to stalk towards her--  
Then he looked to the side, at the stairs for the Astronomy Tower. He paused--then rushed towards them, growling a laugh--  
Rey found her wand, grabbing it from the ground--from the tower, there was a yell and suddenly Greyback fell from the stairs onto his back, lying as still as a statue with his arms and legs drawn in, immobilized. Rey looked up as Harry burst out, panting wildly, eyes frenzied.

“Harry?”  
He glanced her way, chest heaving, and for a moment Rey thought she could see tears glittering on his cheeks. Then the sounds of battle reached him and he turned, sprinting down the hallway into the fray.  
Then Ron was at her side, grabbing hold of her arm and heaving her to her feet.  
“Hey!” he said, face covered with dust and soot. “Are you all right?”  
Through the ringing in her head, she nodded, looking back to the fight--  
A few members of the Order were holding the line, Harry at their side. Ginny had gotten back to her feet, and Ron ran past Rey quickly to keep his sister safe. Rey moved after him, stumbled once, and took two deep breaths.  
She looked up again, and her heart sank.  
Neville was on the ground, lying under debris--and this time he didn’t seem to be moving much. Luna had knelt at his side, a conjured stream of water moving from her wand over his wounds--and in an instant Rey had sprinted to him, falling and looking him over. He looked like Hell had risen up around him; his face and body smeared with the after-effects of fire and blood, chest barely moving with jagged breaths.  
Another yell echoed through the hall from the battle.  
“Go on, Rey,” Luna murmured. Rey looked up at her, then starting to shake her head no-- “ _Yes_ ; they need help. And you’re a much better dueler than I am! I’ll make sure he’s fine; _go!_ ”  
Rey looked back to Neville again, anguished--then let anger take her again, hoisting herself up and sprinting to the fight--  
“Impedimenta!” Harry yelled, and the sandy-haired man Ginny was dueling staggered back a step. Ginny sent a hex rushing his way--blocked by another one of the Death Eaters-- Rey readied her wand--  
McGonagall and the Order members moved in front of them, blocking the way of the fight, trying to keep the children safe. Beyond them, shouting was accompanied by blasts, exploding the hallways again and again--  
Harry slipped by, joining the teachers, and Rey moved over to Ginny’s side, seeing her arms shaking.  
“Are you all right?” Rey asked, taking hold of her arm. Ginny’s eyes darted her way quickly, wide, then she nodded, trying to catch her breath.  
“Stupefy! Reducto! Incendio!” McGonagall’s voice boomed out, sending the Death Eaters scattering. Harry moved past her, running, and Lupin tried to catch him--but he slipped away, rushing down the hall. Ginny gasped next to her--then Rey ran after him, worried; the Order would hold their own, but Harry alone--?  
Down the hall and the stairs--more rubble from the ceiling; more chaos with students wandering, confused, afraid--Ernie Macmillan and a group of Hufflepuffs nearest her, looking up at the sounds of battle.  
“Rey?” Ernie said as she stopped near him, blond hair ruffled up, “What’s going on--?”  
“Ernie,” she said, pushing at him to move back and glancing over her shoulder. “You have to move; get everyone and move away, now! Down the halls; lock doors, just--”  
Behind her, a Death Eater came rushing down the stairs, robes billowing black like wings of ash--  
Rey moved in front of Ernie and the others as they retreated, the Death Eater roaring a curse her way. She rebounded it off, sending it shattering into the painted face of some poor wizard. The man advanced, shouting out another curse--  
“Protego Horribilis!” Rey shouted, the shield of white pulsing out from her wand, the curse crackling to nothing against it. The other students slammed a door, locking it; Rey retreated a step, finding the marble staircase at her feet; Harry went outside--?  
The Death Eater growled, eyes narrowed to wicked little slits--then he grinned--  
“Glisseo!” he yelled, and the stairs under Rey’s feet turned to a slide of slick glass. She flailed, yelping and falling hard onto her back, rolling and tumbling down the long, steep decline, arms coming up to brace her head as much as she could. The world went end over end, spinning--then she reached the ground and her knee cracked down into the stone hard, sending a jolt of pain and numbness up her leg. She gasped, looking up and around weakly; the entrance to the Great Hall was open nearby--in it, more frightened faces--  
A low chuckle moved into her ears, and she looked up at the stairs as they shifted back to normal, the tall man in his dark robes striding down them. A sneer carved its way up his pale face, and he raised his wand.  
“Stupefy--” Rey said, trying to move back on the ground but her leg throbbing with pain. The Death Eater knocked the spell aside easily, taking his time, revelling in this now.  
“Reducto--” --knocked aside, he came to the bottom of the steps, almost upon her, thin lips murmuring a curse she’d never dare speak herself--  
Rey’s eyes darted behind him at a large bit of stone that had been blasted off the wall. “ACCIO!”  
The Death Eater paused his curse, confused--and then the stone came hurtling in against his back, knocking the breath out of him and knocking him clean off his feet, sending him sprawling out against the ground. He blinked, dazed, trying to collect his wand--  
“Stupefy!” Rey shouted, the spell exploding against him almost point-blank. The Death Eater’s body jerked and rolled back with force, unconscious.  
The battle above was slower, the sounds lessened. Rey tried to get up but her knee yelled at her when she tried to bend it. She pushed herself around, having to get on all fours before she could stumble up, and for the first time she saw the ground.  
It was bright red.  
She blinked, confused, then she looked over dazedly to the House Point Hourglasses. Dust and soot had tarnished their colors--but one stood emptied completely. The Gryffindor one; its rubies scattered to the floor like blood.  
She looked in at the students in the Great Hall, panting, wanting to ask if they were okay but not finding the breath to do so, then out at the wild June night. She could hear a shout out there, then little more. For a summer night, this one was neither sweet, nor warm.

Rey paused in the kitchen, sipping her tea now that it had cooled. John and her brothers were silent, listening, their teas all but forgotten. They made an attempt to drink as well, but the drink was mostly for her anyway.  
“After that,” she murmured, “I went out and found Harry with Hagrid. Hagrid’s hut was on fire; I helped them put it out as best I could. Then… I went back in, and everything was done. Whoever was injured went to the Hospital Wing, so I went to try and find Nev. I got put in a bed next to him.”  
She sipped again. Suddenly she felt very tired.  
“M’gonna go see him tomorrow,” she said. “We should go to bed. It’s late.”  
The three men blinked, unsure what to make of that. She set the tea down and swayed in her chair. Her lip trembled, then she started to cry softly, unable to stop herself, and her family moved in close, hugging her tight and keeping her warm.


	2. The Funeral of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

*** Chapter Two***

  
* The Funeral of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore *

Dawn came with the pleasant smell of breakfast and Sam yelling something huffily at Dean. Rey got up, not minding her siblings, and ate what she could. The memory of June was still a fresh wound, but outside it was summer.

When she had eaten and dressed, she went out to see Neville.

The sky was swimming with sunshine. As Rey mounted her broom and started to ascend over her cottage, she could see the garden in back starting to bloom and the rustling fur of some unidentifiable creature; she caught a glimpse of the nearby sea, its deep cerulean waves brushing over lighthearted sand. She turned her gaze forward, sailing off through the air, the gentle breeze brushing her hair back along her features. Green paths of nature beneath climbed over hills and stone, and in no time at all she set herself down on the wide path of large cobblestones leading up to Augusta Longbottom’s home.

It was a rather old-looking house, and quite the tall one too despite being a little thin. The stones holding it upright were a mild brown, running up without that much order the whole length of the home. They had no distinct rows, yet there was still an innate sense of where floors began and ended with the help of a few long planks of wood. The tiles along the steep roof were a burnt red, and Rey had often thought they’d been out in the sun for much too long. A tiny weathervane spun merrily in the breeze, the carved brass horse on top of it occasionally stamping a hoof. Near it, a brick chimney was lying dormant--but then, if it’d been spewing smoke, with how pleasantly hot the July day was, Rey wouldn’t have known what to make of it.

Carefully getting off her broom and pulling it up next to herself, Rey made her way through the gate and past the large garden to the door. The door itself was old and black, the wood not polished, but it was resolutely sturdy, and Rey had always admired it--if felt a little nervous looking up at the knocker. It, too, was black, and carved in the shape of a merry face, holding the actual knocker in its lips.

Rey poked at the nose, making sure it wasn’t alive, and smiled up at it as she knocked.

The sound bounded through the house like a puppy, and Rey took a step back, not wanting to crowd the door. Then it was silent again, and she shifted about on her feet, not wanting to rouse anyone from their beds if they were still asleep. Augusta didn’t usually sleep in--perhaps she was out?

While her thoughts wandered, Rey turned and glanced through the garden again with a smile. It was no wonder Neville always passed herbology; bursting up from the ground, fresh stalks of at least ten different plants had grown at an alarming rate. Along the edge of the garden, almost against a neat row of bushes, the vegetables had matured and she could see the soil turned over again, another round of something-or-other planted. She wondered for a moment what it was, then that thought drifted merrily away, replaced with a giggle: the tiny lawn gnome ornament had taken off its red hat and was whacking away at a very persistent squirrel trying to nibble on leaves.

Behind her, the door opened, and Rey started, looking around and finding Augusta Longbottom standing in the threshold.

“Good morning Audrey,” Neville’s Gran said in as pleasant a voice as the austere woman ever had, and stepped back slightly. “Come in; come in. I assume that’s what you’re here to do, after all?”

“Yes!” Rey stammered, still catching up to her wandering thoughts, “I-- Yes, thank you. Good morning, Mrs. Longbottom.”

“Always so formal,” Rey heard Augusta murmur, stepping inside as well. Augusta shut the door and the dimness of the place made Rey blink as her eyes adjusted. The sunlight outside was grand; in here, it typically was well-lit, but--

She looked around, finding first Augusta’s coat, hung up by the door. The fur of it swayed as if in a breeze, and from the huge fluff around the collar, the fox scarf she usually wore raised itself up lazily, huffed at the heat, and sank back down. As Rey’s eyes adjusted, she found all the pictures she knew well along the walls, the smiling faces of old family memories welcoming her back.

Her eyes paused over a picture of Frank and Alice beaming together, and her heart thudded against her ribs. They were as jovial as the last time she’d visited, blissfully unaware of their son’s injuries.

Augusta had moved into the living room, sitting herself down in an armchair by the dead fireplace and letting out a pleasant sigh. A cup of tea had waited on an end table for her, and she picked it up. Light streamed in better from the parted curtains, but the lights of the building themselves were still off. Rey moved into the living room, pausing a moment then moving to the couch opposite Augusta, being careful not to sit on the large hat taking up one side. The large bird adorning the hat was still, but the wing nonetheless flopped over Rey’s lap.

“How is Neville doing?” Rey asked a little timidly.

The older woman smiled. “I imagine he’s doing a lot better now that you’re here.”

Rey went pale and tried not to breathe too fast.

“Since you’re his friend, and all,” Augusta continued, turning her eyes down to her tea and sipping. Rey tried to get a hold on her gaze, but Augusta kept her eyes turned away. The smile had turned wry on the corners of her mouth, and Rey squirmed in her seat.

Augusta set her tea down again and composed herself with a sigh, her smile fading. “He’s sleeping. You’re welcome to stay until he’s awake, though I don’t know how long that might be.”

Rey’s heart settled and she nodded, the uncertainty of how much Augusta knew replaced with concern for her love. Neville hadn’t been completely all right when it had been time to leave school; on the train home, he’d napped most of the way, resting on her shoulder. She had come over a few times since, and each time he’d stayed in bed, happy to chat but not finding the energy to go out and enjoy the sea with her.

“I’m happy waiting, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Longbottom?” Rey said softly. Augusta nodded, then she straightened in her chair.

“Would you like any tea?”

Rey blinked, then nodded. As best she could remember, she’d never just sat and had tea with Neville’s Gran before. Augusta got up from the armchair, moving out of sight to the kitchen, leaving Rey alone with her hat. The room got pleasantly quiet, and Rey glanced down over the stuffed bird--finding its grimacing expression rather wretched--then the older woman moved back into the room, holding out a lovely little teacup adorned with faded flowers. Rey took it, murmuring her thanks, and took a sip.

The tea was quite a bit nicer than Rey anticipated, filling her chest with a low sense of warmth. Augusta took her seat again, watching Rey for a moment, not starting any conversation. Rey’s thoughts were drifting again, drifting around because there’d be something she hadn’t mentioned to her father and her brothers, amidst the outpouring of thoughts from June and the death of Albus Dumbledore. There was something afterwards that had given her quite a bit of thought, and now that she had time to pause and settle, it was lighting up her mind.

Students had been leaving in the past few days. The Patil twins were gone before breakfast on the morning following Dumbledore’s death, and Zacharias Smith was escorted from the castle by his haughty-looking father. Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, refused point-blank to accompany his mother home; they had a shouting match in the entrance hall that was resolved when she agreed that he could remain behind for the funeral. Hogsmeade was flooded with visitors, ready to pay their last respects to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Rey had spent most of her days in the Hospital Wing. There was no need to go elsewhere; the classes and the examinations had all been postponed or cancelled. The castle was quiet; the people in it were somber, the air was heavy even with sunlight. Everyone was reeling.

Rey’s injuries had been minor, all things considered, and she had gotten out of bed after a day of bombarding Madame Pomfrey with questions about how the others there were. Once she was up, she’d had a chance to look around--and of the rest, the two who stayed in bed were Bill Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Bill had it worse; he had wounds running from his legs to his face that had first been bandaged, creating a Weasley mummy, and finally been taken off to reveal scars like jagged crashes of lightning. He’d been unconscious through most of it, and around his bed his family had doted, along with Fleur Delacour (and they were to be married, Rey overheard; wonderful for them!) and occasionally Harry. She wished Harry would lie down in one of the beds and let Madame Pomfrey help him, though his cuts weren’t exterior now.

She herself sat at Neville’s bedside, keeping him company while he dozed and talking softly with him when he woke.

He had a concussion, among various bruises and cuts, and his leg was recovering from a break. Ironically, the broken bone was the easiest to heal; the rest had left welts and bumps and splotches of yellow-green along his poor skin, and as she watched him she smiled bitterly, seeing a few cuts that at least wouldn’t scar up like Bill’s. When he was awake, she made sure to block as much light as she could, though the infirmary was quite bright with all its windows open, and murmured about the state of the castle and helped him drink what medicine he had to drink until he slept again.

After half a week or so, he woke up much brighter, and Madame Pomfrey said he was set to go. Neville was helped up, and the head nurse remarked privately to Rey that he would still need some looking after, before moving once again to Bill Weasley and redressing his bandages. So, Rey took him back to the Gryffindor Common Room, helped him settle in as best she could, and accompanied him here and there about the castle over the few days remaining; usually to the greenhouses, where they both found a great sense of comfort.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny usually spent their evenings huddled close in the Common Room. Rey had wanted to ask what they were up to; how she might help with whatever they mumbled over--but she took Nev’s health far more seriously, and too much sensory input wore him down after a while.

_A precursor,_ she thought, _to “in sickness or in health.”_ And thinking that did make her smile.

Resting alone in bed, the night before the funeral, she was drifting off to sleep when Ginny came up. She had moved into Rey’s dorm since most of the girls of her year had just gone home. Their dormitory being dark save the brief and bitter rays of starlight coming in from the windows, Rey couldn’t see her well except red hair, but she could hear the heavy sigh that followed.

“Are you okay?” Rey asked, sitting up.

There was no reply for almost half a minute, and Rey swung her legs out of bed. Finally, the words “Yeah, fine,” slunk back through the room. “Goodnight” came as an afterthought, and it was a long time before either slept.

Quietly, morning came.

Rey rose early to pack the next day; the Hogwarts Express would be leaving an hour after the funeral. Downstairs, she found the mood in the Great Hall--at best--melancholy. Everybody was wearing their dress robes and no one seemed particularly hungry. Professor McGonagall had left the throne-like chair in the middle of the staff table empty. It would’ve been inappropriate to fill it. Hagrid’s was deserted too; and Snape’s place had been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour. Rey looked to her food as his yellowish eyes scanned the Hall.

Her thoughts wandered in a daze--Hermione had related to her what Harry had said happened that night, up in the Astronomy Tower. Harry himself was--unresponsive, perhaps, being the politest word. There was something eating up his mind now.

To think that _Snape_ had done such a thing--Rey couldn’t believe it, but, painfully, she had no issue accepting it as fact. Of course he could have; what couldn’t he have done?

Then, silence took over the Great Hall. Unbroken, unending silence. Rey pushed her plate away slightly, her stomach too twisted to take another bite.

“It is nearly time,” Professor McGonagall said at the head of the Hall. Rey looked up, realizing the professor was standing. “Please follow your Heads of Houses out into the grounds. Gryffindors, after me.”

Rey stood, offering an arm to help Neville up to his feet as well. He took it gratefully, and they all filed out from behind their benches in near silence. They were heading, as Rey saw when she stepped out from the front doors onto the stone steps, toward the lake. The warmth of the sun caressed her face as they followed Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the center of them. A marble table stood in front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful summer’s day.

An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs; shabby and smart, old and young. Most Rey did not recognize, but a few she did: Kingsley Shacklebolt; Mad-Eye Moody; Tonks, her hair miraculously returned to vivedest pink; Remus Lupin, with whom she seemed to be holding hands; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon-skin. Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two and a half chairs on her own; Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron in London; the hairy bass player from the Wizarding group the Weird Sisters; Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley; and some people whom Rey merely knew by sight, such as the barman of the Hog’s Head and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwart’s Express. The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially on the gleaming air.

Rey and Neville filed into seats near the end of one row. Luna found her way to Neville’s other side, and together she and Rey helped him sit. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, but the birdsong was louder by far. The crowd around them swelled, and Rey looked around.

Cornelius Fudge walked past towards the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual; Rey spied Rita Skeeter among the crowd as well, a notebook clutched in her red-taloned hand, and then with a jolt of wrath saw Dolores Umbridge, an unconvincing expression of grief upon her toad-like face, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-colored curls. At the sight of the centaur Firenze, who was standing like a sentinel near the water’s edge, she gave a start and scurried hastily into a seat a good distance away.

Neville let out a low, defeated sigh next to her, and Rey glanced over at him. He was slumped in his chair, his eyes dim and downcast, hands playing with themselves and the folds of his pants for something to preoccupy his mind. Rey took one of them, trying to be reassuring, and had to push back tears when he squeezed hers, the pain of everything starting to punch in around her.

Music started from somewhere, strange, otherworldly, and heads turned, including Rey’s and Neville’s, trying to locate the source of the sound. Rey’s eyes fell upon the placid lake, the clear green sunlit water, and found inches below the surface the visage of merpeople, singing in a choir of voices she could not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them. The music was jarring and made her skin break into gooseflesh, but it was not unpleasant. It spoke of what was lost, and of despair.

Heavy footsteps trudged up the central aisle, and Rey looked around with Nev to find Hagrid walking slowly up the rows. He was crying quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with gold stars, was what Rey knew to be Dumbledore’s body. There was an unbearable quietness even with the music, and finally it was broken by a sob, a light and pained sob. Rey’s brows furrowed, her hand squeezing Neville’s tighter, and it was only when her vision blurred did she come to the dim realization that the sob had come from her.

Neville looked gray in his chair next to her. Beyond him, Luna was crying too, her lip trembling. Rey’s body shook and yet she was paralyzed, unable to look away and not wanting to. She felt so tired, so very tired, and no amount of exhaling seemed to be enough to let every pain out.

They could not see clearly what was happening at the front. Hagrid seemed to have placed the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreated down the aisle, blowing his nose loudly, and Rey tried to smile up at him and comfort him even slightly as he passed, but his eyes were too clouded to see.

A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had gotten to his feet and stood now in front of Dumbledore’s body. Rey couldn’t hear what he was saying, but could make out a few odd words over the hundreds of heads: “Nobility of spirit” … “intellectual contribution” … “greatness of heart” …

It was bland. A pitiful, generic eulogy for a Headmaster who had given so much, been so much, been adored so much. She cried quietly, Neville petting her hand all the while. Who cared who saw, anymore?

He was gone. He really was gone.

Dumbledore was gone, and they remained, a school without anyone in charge.

Whoever came next would be-- would be what? Rey couldn’t find the right word, because the right word didn’t exist. There _was_ no one who could succeed him, because he had been so much more than a “man in charge” after all. He had been the Great Father that had watched over them; the one who, at those luscious feasts bookending the school year, had given them words of whimsy and wisdom; the one who had stood up for what was right and just, even going in the face of the Ministry. He was a legend, an enigma, and irrepressibly human and old, at the end of the day. He was old, and he had fought, and he had fallen.

He had died, and now they remained, without him.

Rey cried until the tears were gone and she had nothing left to give.

The little man in black had stopped speaking at last and resumed his seat. Rey waited dully for somebody else to get to their feet; she expected speeches, grand gestures of political camaraderie, perhaps from the Minister, but no one else stood.

Then several people screamed. Bright white flames erupted around Dumbledore’s body and the table upon which it lay: higher and higher they rose, obscuring him. White smoke spiraled into the air and made strange shapes: Rey saw, for one brief delighted blink, that there was a phoenix soaring within the mists--then it was gone. In its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore’s body and the table on which he had rested.

There were a few more cries of shock as a shower of arrows soared through the air, but they fell far short of the crowd. It was the centaur’s tribute: Rey glanced around and saw them turning and disappearing back into the cool trees of the forest. Likewise, the merpeople sank slowly back into the green water and were lost from view.

It was over, and there was a solemn emptiness now. The thoughts were gone, and Rey sat, unsure what to do now. The only warmth of the blissful summer day came at her hand where she held Neville’s for dear life.

They sat in quiet, watching the day and watching nothing at all, as the crowd around them starting to rise and fall away. There was no rush, but the Express would be waiting at the station in an hour, after all. But there was no rush, and Rey wasn’t sure she could stand anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Neville leaned forward, starting to get up to his feet. Luna sniffled and supported one of his arms; Rey helped with the other in a heartbeat. The last few members of the DA, ready and willing to fight for a man who was now lying quiet and dead.

“Harry!”

Rey frowned, looking around and finding Rufus Scrimgeour limping rapidly around the bank of the water, intent on talking to her friend. _Hasn’t he been through enough?_ , Rey thought, and her gaze drifted back. Confusion fell over her gaze; Harry had walked away from those near him--Ron was holding Hermione as she wept on his shoulder--and Ginny looked like an unfinished statue, her face composed to the point of almost breaking. Luna moved away from Neville’s other side and over to her, asking something in a hushed tone that Rey couldn’t--and didn’t--want to know. In her heart, she knew just what it was that had transpired--just what Harry had said--and she gripped Neville tighter.

While Harry scowled up at Scrimgeour, Rey helped Neville back to the castle. They had to collect their things, and they had to go. She cast a glance back, her heart pounding, watching Harry’s figure stand all alone.

Beyond him, the white tomb stood tall and silent on the lakeside. There was a peacefulness around it, a sense of completion, a sense of ending.

They went in.

As they came back down the stairs to go, Rey heard Ron saying something back above. The herd of students had thinned, and the door before them was open and sprawling to the world. It was time to leave year six behind.

“Nev?”

“Mm?”

“I-- Do you mind; I wanted to make sure Harry was okay. Do you mind waiting?”

Neville smiled gently, nodding, and when they got to the arch of the doorway he paused, leaning against the threshold and looking out at the blissful land. Rey smiled sincerely for the first time in days, looking at him haloed by the gentle glow of the sun, then turned, finding Harry, Ron, and Hermione coming down the stairs. She moved over to meet them at the bottom.

Ron and Hermione stopped. Harry didn’t seem like he would.

“Harry?” Rey said softly. Harry didn’t look at her.

“Harry,” she repeated a little more forcefully. He tried to step to the side, and Rey frowned, stepping to the side to stop him. He stopped. “Talk to me,” she said softly.

Harry turned sharply, trying to move past--

“Harry--” Rey said, reaching out and grabbing him before he could move away, taking his hand and finding it limp and still. Her face drew in with pain, and her fingers curled in against his palm, giving it a light squeeze. “ _Please_. I don’t have any idea what’s going on; I don’t know what you’re facing. But I don’t want you to feel alone with the-- the weight of it; you’re not.”

Harry turned, looking at her. His face was too old for his figure. The lines were drawn in too deep.

“I certainly don’t know what it’s like to be you,” Rey continued softly, watching his flat gaze, “but I know I want to help. I know a lot of people want to help.”

Harry swallowed, taking a long breath that shuddered in his lungs and shook his chest before he let it back out. He finally looked away again. “You’d get hurt,” he finally said in a voice so soft Rey had to think twice if she’d heard him, “and I can’t ask you or anyone to die for me.”

“Harry--”

“It’s not _safe_ ,” he muttered, his shoulders shaking as the word darted out.

“ _And?_ ” Rey said bluntly, squeezing his hand again a little harder. Harry seemed to wince, looking at her grip then her in surprise. “It’s not safe for you, Harry; it’s not safe in Hogwarts-- I don’t think it’s going to be safe anywhere in the whole world,” she continued, her voice rising faster than she meant for it to, “and if-- if I learned anything here; anything from _you_ , it’s that you can be strong, and you can know the spells and the words and the most _important_ thing from the DA was that we were strong together!”

Rey’s lip trembled, trying to keep her voice lowered in the hallways. Ron and Hermione stood on the stairs, as shy and out-of-the-way as paintings.

“The DA’s gone,” Harry said simply.

“And when it wasn’t? It was dangerous going to the Ministry together. It was dangerous guarding the Room of Requirement together. It was dangerous to _be_ in the DA together! Harry--”

Harry didn’t reply, watching her a little taken-aback.

“Harry, I don’t want to go to your funeral next,” Rey whispered, the words still booming around them. “I don’t want to go to anyone else’s here.” Her gaze trailed over to Ron and Hermione, then turned back to Harry. “Tell me how I can help you. Or at least what’s happening. _Please_.”

Harry’s shoulders fell, and he swallowed again. “How’s Neville doing?” he asked quietly.

“He’s fine,” Rey said, “this isn’t about-- this is more than just him.”

“I’m glad he’s okay,” Harry said.

“Harry, talk to me!” Rey said, her breath catching and shuddering as a swell of confusion and heat rolled through her chest. She forced herself to breathe, softening her tone. “If nothing else, are you going to be okay?”

Harry said nothing, then his gaze dropped from hers. “I don’t know.”

Rey searched his features, found nothing, and finally grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug. Harry tensed, startled, and it took him quite a long time to relax. Rey tried to find something to say, but the words escaped her, flittering away into the ether. She didn’t expect him to reply at all, or even to hug her back.

Surprisingly, he did, and she felt him sink against her, folding down like wet paper. He rested his chin against her shoulder, his arms heavy and leaden, his chest rising and falling again defeatedly. She put a hand over his back, glancing worriedly up at Ron and Hermione. They both seemed as surprised as she was.

“There’s something I have to find,” Harry murmured. Rey had to strain her ears to find it. “There’s-- multiple items. And I don’t know what they are, but if I don’t find them, there’s no-- there’s no hope of winning.”

Rey blinked then hugged him tighter. Her mind had gone blank; every new moment brought another curve in the ever-expanding spiral of realization: multiple items, no context. All or nothing.

Was-- was that even possible?

Oh no.

“If anyone can, Harry, you can,” she murmured back.

Harry hugged her tighter all at once, squeezing so hard she had to hold her breath taut to keep it in. Then he let her go, moving away.

“You stay well, Audrey.” He offered a mild smile.

“You too, Harry,” she said, still watching him worriedly, and then he moved past her, down the hall, going out the doors. Ron and Hermione had talked with her quickly, trying to be reassuring and promising to look out for him, hoping Neville was well, but then they were gone too. Rey stood alone in the hall, finally finding her way down to the Express with Nev. She found her seat next to him, nestled in at his side, and watched as the land faded outside the window, empty and calm and bitter even in the summer sunshine without anyone at all out there.

Multiple items. No context.

All or nothing.

“Audrey, dear?”

Rey glanced up as Augusta spoke. The tea had gone cold in Rey’s hands, and she finally set the cup down. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s fine,” Augusta said with surprising gentleness to her voice. “Are you all right?”

Rey nodded. Augusta smiled lightly.

“He’s awake; you should go up.”

“Hm?” Rey said, blinking, and her ears came back to the rest of her senses; above, they could hear the floor creaking as Neville moved around. “Oh! Yes--thank you. Thank you for the tea!”

“Anytime,” Augusta said, and Rey got up, moving upstairs. She found Neville feeling better--not as good as perfect, but much better--and she was greeted with a brilliant smile.

Rey took his hand, tugging him outdoors for the first time all month, and they went down to the water’s edge and enjoyed the waves and the sand, having their first proper day of summer.


	3. Dreams of Autumn

*** Chapter Three***

****

*Dreams of Autumn*

July was blistering, and the heat made the days all the sweeter along the cool oceanside. Rey rested her head against Neville’s thigh, curled up like a polite little kitten lounging over his lap. He sat on the sand, propped up by a large rock behind him and watching with a mild smile as the tide started its way in to lick his toes. One arm rested along his companion, and Rey let out a soft pleasant hum every now and then as his thumb petted her side.

She was starting to get quite the tan; they spent most of their days now out on the shore.

Rey’s eyes were shut. If she’d opened them, it wouldn’t’ve done much anyway; her great mane of hair had overtaken her face. But nonetheless she was smiling softly, feeling the heat of the summer sun above and the added contact from her Neville. The sound of the waves, ebbing and flowing in a soft cascading melody, worked its way into her chest and settled into a calmness that pervaded the air and stopped the world where it spun. For now, all was good.

A breeze curled over her body; a blanket of cold wind that took away the burn of the sun, and Neville caressed her side. There was calm, and she smiled, thinking about nothing at all and happy to just exist.

And yet.

Rey opened her eyes, brushing her hair off her face and looking out at the waves. They stretched to the horizon, melting into the sky seamlessly until the sweet, uninterrupted blue overtook the world. There was one thought that nagged at her--one thought that had come back over and over since she’d sent off the card.

Harry was turning seventeen on the 31st. It was a day after Nev’s on the 30th--which, itself, was tomorrow--but she wasn’t exactly going to see Harry the way she would see Neville. And, especially since they’d left school, she had worried about where he was and if he was safe. She’d heard little in the way of news; her father had been extremely careful to steer the conversations away from current affairs at dinner--but she knew the world was starting to go mad.

Voldemort was back. Undeniably, he was. And his supporters had shed their masks and brazenly stepped into the light, thinking themselves untouchable. And, perhaps saddest of all, for the most part they _were_ going unpunished.

She had drawn Harry a birthday card. It wasn’t much; just a small portraiture of Hedwig flapping her wings excitedly and the words “I hope your birthday’s a HOOT!” (they had been Dean’s idea, and he would _not_ take no for an answer since cards “always had to have puns”), but she’d been happy with it, and more happy to send it off to him.

It must’ve gotten to 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, by now.

And yet.

There had been no reply, thusfar.

Rey took a long breath and let it out, breaking herself from her reverie. The beach was wonderful, but she could see the sun starting to wane and the lick of orange start its creep over the skyline. She stretched her legs out into the soft sand and propped herself up.

“Mmmnnn?”

Rey blinked, unsure where the sound had come from--such a deep and sweet tone as the calm ocean winds might carry naturally--then giggled, seeing Neville yawn and open his eyes. He blinked a few times, squinting in the sunlight, then smiled at her.

“Falling asleep?” she asked, beaming at him. How wonderfully handsome he was, even in the harsh and heavy sunlight.

“No!” he replied, though it was followed by a sheepish smile. “Did you want to get up?”

“We probably should,” Rey giggled, “considering if we’re out until sundown your Gran’ll come looking for us.”

“Ahhh,” Neville said, yawning again and flopping his legs to wake them up.

“Tomorrow though!” Rey said playfully, standing and stretching. “Tomorrow you’ll be an adult and _old_ and can stay out however long you like.”

She grinned, glancing down at him when he didn’t immediately reply. He was looking up at her with wide, sweet eyes, taking her in as the sun brushed around her back. Her grin softened as a blush stole over her features, and she offered a hand. He took it, hoisting himself to his feet with a grunt and brushing sand off his rump. He moved closer to her, and for a moment Rey forgot she’d learned to breathe once. He smiled, and his hand rolled smoothly over her side and hip.

Her blush deepened to crimson, and she let out a small squeak. “N-Nev?”

“Hm?” Neville’s gaze met hers with wide and innocent eyes, a great puppy dog. “Would you rather be all sandy, love?”

He brushed the rest of the sand from her side, and she let out a flustered prayer to Merlin that Neville couldn’t tell the speed of her heartbeat now.

“Thanks,” she murmured, and he slipped his hand into hers, giving it a tight squeeze. He beamed, so delighted to just be near her, and in another moment she was beaming with him, snuggling up against his arm and hugging it as they started walking down the shore. Augusta met them at the corner of the Longbottom garden, where she was half-watering the plants and half-searching for squirrels along with the blustering garden gnome.

They went in; Rey and Nev went upstairs and chatted for a little while more; and finally she left for home, delightedly calm. Her family good-naturedly badgered her, and each other, and soon enough she went to bed.

And then night came, and with it, dreaming.

She woke in a sweat but couldn’t remember why.

Her heart beat upon her chest, but as she rubbed the night from her face and the sun descended into her room, she let out a pleasant sigh and woke up more fully to the world. It was an important day, after all!

Neville’s seventeenth birthday. She could pester him delightedly about how she was dating an _adult_ and would he go get them some butterbeers please and--

Smiling to herself, she hopped out of bed and flew down the stairs, making herself the quickest breakfast possible.

“Someone’s excited.”

She glanced around, finding Dean sitting at the table with a cup in his hand and a newspaper in front of him. Sam puttered about the living room, grabbing books from the shelves and setting them all haphazardly down by a chair opposite his brother’s. Dean leaned back, watching his baby sister and taking a long drink.

“What’s the big day?” Sam asked, disappearing again for more books.

“Our future brother-in-law’s birthday,” Dean called out. “He’s seventeen now.”

Rey spluttered, turning red.

“Ah!” Sam called back, poking his head from the archway between rooms. “Are we buying him drinks? Is that what normal people celebrate with?”

Dean shrugged, and Rey’s ears flattened to her head. “THANKYOUYESITSHISBIRTHDAY” she managed. She hadn’t _told_ them he was her boyfriend, but, then, she didn’t have to.

“Eating and heading out?” Dean asked.

Rey nodded. “As soon as I can!”

Sam carted more books to the table and set them down, sitting in front of them with a delighted sigh. He turned his gaze over to her as well. “Uh-- putting on real clothes first, or--?”

“Eh, he probably wouldn’t mind,” Dean said into his cup, looking at the newspaper again.

Rey blinked at them, then glanced down at herself; still in her pajama shorts and a loose old tee. She squeaked and rushed upstairs again.

Neville’s house wasn’t any different on the outside, and yet as Rey approached it she could feel the joy radiating from it and sweetening the summer air. She set down just outside the garden and walked with broom-in-hand to the door. She didn’t even need to knock; as if on-command, the wood swung open--though as she glanced down, she found the tiny garden gnome hefting and puffing and waving up at her. She waved back and went in, setting her broom carefully aside.

Inside, she heard the bustle of a few delighted people. Neville’s birthdays were never impressive, and this year’s especially only seemed to have his Gran (of course!), and his Great-Aunt Enid and Great-Uncle Algie. She wasn’t terribly happy with Algie--he was, after all, the same Great-Uncle Algie who had thrown Neville in water at age six (whereupon Dean had fished him out) and dropped him from a window to make him do magic. But, then, she amended, he was also the same Great-Uncle Algie who had bought Neville the Mimbulus Mimbletonia and Trevor, so in his own way, he did care.

She walked a few paces in, stopped unsure of how to continue approaching--and was pulled into the clamor when Neville turned his smiling face from his family and noticed her. The smile turned into a grin, and he exclaimed “Rey!” with such a note of enthusiasm that the other three stopped their small chattering and looked over to her as well. In an instant, she was surrounded, greeted warmly by the Longbottom clan, asked how the trip over had been and how was she and--

“It’s Neville’s birthday, not mine!” she laughed, and in another moment the attention was back on him. Neville squirmed under their care, but Rey could see too that he was happy as could be with family nearby.

They retired to the living room, and Rey sat at Neville’s side on the old worn couch, enduring the small chit-chat about how big he’d grown and how, when he was a boy--

Neville’s ears turned quite red as they recounted (for the third year in a row) how he had tried to bury himself in the soil at age 4 to try and grow faster. Rey had to bite her cheeks hard not to laugh, and failed to notice--when the conversation lapsed again and the adults smiled at the two of them--that she had clasped his hands where they laid in his lap and was petting them sweetly.

There was cake served, and later Rey could not remember at all what kind of cake it was, except that it was delicious. The type, she supposed, didn’t really matter; it didn’t matter that it was drier than she might’ve preferred; it was a cake made with love for her love.

As it was brought out from the kitchen, Neville chuckled once and hung his head, accepting his fate. Rey grinned and squeezed his hands, as she and his family broke into a verse of badly-harmonized but sincerely sweet “Happy Birthday”. He looked up with a smile, balking at how the flames on the candles seemed to have a mind of their own and reared up excitedly towards him.

“Blasted enchanted things,” Rey heard Augusta grumble. “Only out a few times a year; can’t you behave?”

Neville thought for a moment, blew out the candles, and a hearty cheer broke out in the room.

As they ate and Great-Aunt Enid tuttered about how when Neville had gone to Ollivander’s the first time it had taken almost three hours to find the wand that _wouldn’t_ make the shelves fly into a tizzy like disdainful peacocks--and look at Neville _now_ all grown up!--Rey’s thoughts slipped into the coming part of the day. Her large bite of cake grew thoughtful, and her thumb stroked over the back of Nev’s hand, making him blush without meaning to. Algie harrumphed that he’d had Frank’s wand until just last year; that story makes it sound like he was five when he first went to Ollivander’s! (Five; sixteen; what’s the difference--he’s an adult now!) Augusta sipped her tea.

“I wonder when the wedding will be,” Algie said with a chortle.

Neville balked, and Rey still didn’t notice.

“Hush, dear,” Enid said patiently.

“Congratulations, is perhaps a better thing to say, then,” Algie said with more softness in his voice, looking between the two on the couch. Neville’s ears flattened and he muttered a thanks.

Rey blinked, realizing things had gone quiet. “Sorry-- did I miss something?”

“Not at all,” Augusta said, setting her tea down. “Presents?”

“Presents!” Algie echoed in a bark, pulling out a large box from under his chair. The wrapping paper was reused from Christmas, showing white snowmen dancing through a storm against a background of red. Enid sighed and muttered “I _told_ you we have other paper,” to which he huffily replied that it counts perfectly well for birthdays; Christmas _is_ a birthday, Enid. (Yes, and it’s not _his_ birthday, Algie!) (Oh, for goodness’ sake, the wrapping paper isn’t the gift; just let him open it--)

Enid had a smaller box, wrapped in neat, unwrinkled brown paper, and Augusta a larger parcel that had to be something clothing-related, seeing how much it flopped about. Rey herself pulled out her package, a large-ish square, and all of these were placed down on the table.

Neville smiled sheepishly, looking between them all and then up at them. They all smiled back, and Neville looked back to the gifts. Rey was suddenly struck with a thought; maybe he wasn’t used to many gifts. Maybe he was savoring them all there, taking a picture in his mind so there was no way of forgetting that he’d gotten them.

“No need to be polite, Neville; you can tear into them,” Algie said with a bemused little smile. Enid sighed and shook her head at her husband, but Neville laughed, broken out of his reverie at the four presents and taking Algie’s first.

With a satisfyingly crisp tear, off came the Christmas wrappings, and once the box within was opened, Neville’s eyes got wide with joy. Inside, Rey observed, it was packed to the brim with supplies for herbalism and gardening: the whole left side was built up with stacks of every kind of seed under the sun, and on the right were tools carefully placed for tilling the soil and keeping plants watered and separated from one another.

“A lot of that’s Muggle-based, too,” Algie said, leaning back in his chair. “I figured since you were able to grow anything magical in the garden without breaking a sweat, I might as well give you something completely different.”

“It’s fantastic, thank you!” Neville said, grinning ear-to-ear.

Algie smiled. “Merry Christmas,” Enid said into her cup of tea, making her husband scoff and smiling to herself.

Neville looked through each packet of seeds, marveling at the names of them and the small pictures of grown greenery, then set them all carefully back and picked up the tiny box from Great-Aunt Enid. She shifted about in her chair, smiling to herself, and Neville tore off the wrapping as carefully as he could.

Inside was a tiny jewelry box, and within that, Rey saw the glint of a round metal disc. Neville pulled out a pendant on a cord, and the two of them marvelled at the inscribed symbols on it. It was something old and advanced, that much was evident--but it wasn’t anything either had ever seen. In the center, an eight-pointed star was spread across, and in between each point, runic symbols were etched. In the exact center, another circle was carved.

“It’s from the upper reaches of Europe,” Enid said with surprising tactileness in her voice. “The eight points relate to different forms of energy, as thought by the witches and wizards up there. Each rune is a different kind of protection; the center is a shield. It’s a charm meant to ward off any and all kinds of residual dark energy.”

“Woah,” Neville said, tracing a finger over the surface.

“Should I tell him it’s not pure gold, just nice shiny brass?” Rey heard Algie mutter, to which Enid grumpily swatted his arm. “It’s the thought that counts!” she retorted, to which her husband stuck out his tongue and muttered “Merry Christmas!”

Augusta looked over at them with a tired sigh, then looked at Rey. Though she said nothing, Rey thought she heard the elder woman’s voice in her mind: “Don’t grow up to start bickering with my Neville, hm?”

Rey smiled politely, and Augusta smiled back. Neville glanced at his Gran, then while Enid and Algie were muttering at one another slipped the pendant over Rey’s head. She blushed, looking over at him confused, and he tucked it under her hair and shirt. “To keep you safe,” he mumbled with a shy smile. Before Rey could say anything back, Enid and Algie were watching them again pleasantly, and Rey assumed a bright look; this is fine, nothing to see, ha ha!

Augusta sipped her tea, enjoying her day immensely.

Neville opened Augusta’s next, pulling out from the crinkling wrapping paper a large cloak. It looked soft--and for a moment, Neville and Rey sat confused as to what exactly it was. It looked like fur; Rey carefully pawed at it and it _felt_ like fur--

A giant lion’s head arched up and stared lazily at them, letting out a sleepy _mrrrrrr_ and flopped back down. The cloak’s paws wobbled, and Nev almost dropped it in surprise. He caught it again, handling it carefully, and stood up, letting it unwind.

It was less of a cloak, Rey thought bewilderedly, than a flattened, lively pelt. It was broad; it had waves and waves of warm fur, and it also had four paws at the corners, a swishing tail, and a maned lion head ready to act as a cap. In a moment, the head flopped backwards, blinking at Neville, and let out a purr.

“A lion cape for our Gryffindor,” Augusta said calmly. “Or a blanket, whichever you like, dear. He doesn’t bite; he’s very snuggly, in fact.”

“Thank you,” Neville managed, more than a bit overwhelmed. The cloak started flailing in his grasp, and he sat back down, folding the fur over and over in his lap until the head rested on top. It shuffled about on its own then settled, purring contentedly.

Neville picked up Rey’s gift, opening it carefully. Rey bit back a smile, and watched as his eyes lit up.

“Rosemary Alabaster’s new book!” he exclaimed, brushing the paper off and showing it to his relatives. They all looked over the cover, upon which was stamped: MIRACLES OF A GREEN WITCH: THE STRANGEST TALES OF HERBALISM.

“Open it,” Rey said in a small, polite voice.

Neville looked her way, puzzled, then flipped the book open, listening to the hardback’s spine get some use for the first time. His eyes widened.

“It’s signed!”

His family leaned in, puzzled, and Rey held back a wide grin as he read the inscription: “To Mr. Neville Longbottom, I hope to write up tales of your green thumbs someday! Keep up the fantastic work, Rosemary Greene Alabaster”.

They all looked to Rey, who cleared her throat.

“She was at The Three Broomsticks back in May,” Rey said. “I had preordered the book and made sure the package was kept at the Owlery instead of coming into the Great Hall. That day you were in the Greenhouses and I went to get us some butterbeers, I ran into her. That’s what took so long; I told her about you and how good you were and she was delighted to be recognized and sign a book, so I wound up sprinting back and forth.”

Neville grinned, speechless. Rey paused, glancing at his relatives. “What the hell, they already know--” she mumbled, then huffed and leaned in, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Happy Birthday, love,” she murmured, and the both of them were scarlet as she quickly moved back, sitting placidly on the couch with him.

Augusta started a conversation with the other adults about something or other, giving them as much privacy as possible. Neville flipped through the book, delighted, resting it on the cloak. The lion’s head nuzzled up at his hands, then sniffed over Rey’s as she ran a hand over it. It was quite soft and warm, and the purring was nice.

Finally, Augusta glanced over at the wall-mounted clock, ticking its hands around with a quiet undertone to the room, and looked back at them. “It may be time to get going, Neville.”

Nev’s smile faded slightly and he nodded. Rey’s smile faded a little, then she regained herself to stay strong and happy. Neville set the gifts aside carefully on the couch and stood, stretching his legs. Rey stood with him.

With a huff, the adults joined them. Enid and Algie spoke gently of having other business that needed attending, and Neville nodded, understanding. They moved over, wishing him, again, happy birthday; Enid’s accompanied by a hug and Algie’s with a clap on the shoulder and a broad grin. They wished Rey well likewise, and headed out into the rest of the day.

“Are you ready, dear?” Augusta asked gently, and Neville nodded, moving over to his Gran. Rey moved over too, and the three of them joined hands.

“Deep breath,” Augusta said calmly, taking a long breath and letting it out. Neville and Rey did the same--

As their breath caught, the air changed around them, whipping them like a gunshot through the world. Everything compressed to a flattened point of extreme discomfort, crushing around Rey’s head--then just as quickly expanded and deposited the three of them on the ground. Rey’s breath punched out of her lungs and she coughed, doubling over with a hand on her knees. Nearby, she could hear Neville coughing as well.

Augusta squeezed both their hands, taking a calming breath. “Never fun to do,” she said, and when the two younger folks could finally breathe again, Rey looked up and saw the sight she knew sorrowfully was coming, as it had been coming all day, all week, all month.

The gates of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries awaited them.

Rey took Neville’s other hand, and he smiled at both her and his Gran. “I’m okay,” he said gently, and nonetheless they didn’t let go as they walked in.

It was a bright place. It wasn’t very warm, Rey thought, but it was bright, and it was trying. Somewhere, she’d heard someone say that hospitals always had odd magic around them. On some floors, it was the magic of Birth and Creation; on many other floors, it was the magic of Death and Endings. On all of them, there was a magnification of Pain. Hospitals, therefore, got to be very haunted sometimes, and she knew of plenty of cases of Aurors having to go and deal with whatever stalked the halls. She’d heard they were some of the freakier cases; must’ve been Sam who had mentioned this. He and Dean had gone to a few hospitals before.

Walking through St. Mungo’s, she knew at once what he meant.

There was a pleasant conversational buzz in the air; the hum of the people in different rooms, floating around the hallways to them. Yet there weren’t many people there--the hallways were long and grey and the windows at the end were too bright, making it all look like a place that had no real ending. The paths disappeared around corners and into rooms behind barely ajar doors. There was a dismality to it all, a sense that this was a place for bittersweetness at most; a place that had abandoned the idea of happiness a couple epochs back. She shuddered to think what it must be like when the day fell into darkness.

They approached a desk at the intersection of two long hallways. A witch in pristinely white robes looked up at them with a pleasant smile.

“Mr. Neville Longbottom, to see his parents?” Augusta said calmly, holding out a small certificate proving it was, indeed, Neville there. Neville shuffled on his feet, and Rey moved her arms around his, hugging it to her side.

The witch nodded at the paper, smiling a smile that was meticulously distanced from any real emotion. Rey supposed it was probably much more healthy for the workers to be more aloof. “They’re upstairs,” the witch said in a gentle tone, “fourth floor, Janus Thickey Ward, in the Incurable Wing, room 232. They’re a little quieter than usual today, from what I’ve heard, just to let you know.”

“That’s fine, thank you,” Augusta said, bowing her head politely and leading on down the hall. Neville murmured thanks as well, and Rey followed suit, hugging onto him as they walked. He was more tense; she could feel it, the way he was moving, but his arm relaxed every few seconds at the shoulder, and his hand brushed her side every few steps in gentle thanks.

The hallway felt like it would go on forever, but Augusta cut it short, turning them upwards into a flight of bone-white stairs. Rey winced looking along them, and didn’t know why until she realized that the walls were completely undecorated. On the first floor, there had been a vague attempt at definition with colored tiles and framed pictures, which didn’t stand out much--until there was just.. _nothing._ The hallway walls were bland and blank; white eggshells at right degree angles going up and up to the upper floors. There were no windows, nor breaks in the paint. If it was simply old, Rey might’ve considered it boring--but it was newly painted, purposefully--unimaginative? That wasn’t the right word, Rey thought, then her mind touched on a better one.

Empty.

It was an empty, peaceless wall. Unemotional and uncaringly empty.

They ascended the steps quietly, listening to their footfalls still echo up the empty staircase.

At the fourth floor, they turned out into another hallway, at least decorated with some kind of color, and made their way down to a large set of double-doors. An inscription above them beared: INCURABLE WING, which Rey had always thought of as a little rude. It was hopeless in its entirety, she’d realized, and something about it peeved her.

It was always nice to hope; there was always a _wish_ that you could have a hopeful outcome. Sometimes that just wasn’t the case.

They went in.

The hallway continued, except the quiet buzz that had surrounded them in the rest of the halls had faded. These were quiet, save their footsteps and the far-off sound of some nurses bustling to and fro. The doors here were all closed.

They made their way to 232 and stopped. Augusta glanced at Neville. He stepped forward and gently knocked on the door.

There was a silence that penetrated the hallway to its core, then the door opened.

A polite young wizard opened the door, dressed in more nurse’s whites, and stepped aside to let them in. Neville smiled and moved in first, then Rey followed him closely, then Augusta. The door was shut, and Rey felt a quiet encase around them. It was a different peace than the hallway, though; the room felt weirdly-- okay. As she walked in, it was a sad place, but there was an odd gentleness to it. A neutered, harmless room.

It was a nice large room, and had a divider in it that was drawn back to show the whole space. Each section had its own, neatly-made bed. Each bed was empty.

Each section had a window, and at the closest one, a chair had been set to sit in front of. In it, Rey could see the back of Frank C. J. Longbottom’s head, his hair short and tidily dark, the hint of a bald spot appearing in the very back. Standing near his side, Alice Fortescue Longbottom swayed, her lighter, fine hair growing a little longer, spooling out across her shoulders and down her back. Both were looking out the window, and as Rey glanced out as well, she could see that it was a view of other buildings across a small plaza; other connected pieces of St. Mungo’s, it would seem. The plaza seemed to have a few birds, from the faint chirping.

The room was quiet. No one really knew how to start the interactions. Frank and Alice had been tortured by Death Eater’s when Neville was an infant; their minds were irreparable.

“Friends and family to see you, dears,” the nurse said in a soothing, soft voice, moving over to his patients. “Frank; Alice; Neville’s come to see you.”

The nurse put a gentle hand on Alice’s shoulder, and her head lulled over towards him. Rey could see the glassy edge of one eye as it blinked. The nurse pointed over towards the visiting party, and Alice stepped around, following where he pointed.

Rey had to stop herself from crying. She couldn’t imagine what being Neville was like, right now.

Alice watched them with great, vacant eyes. They were beautiful eyes, and Rey could’ve imagined easily that Frank had fallen in love with them once; how many stars she must’ve captured in her gaze when she looked up on clear nights. There was a fine mist covering them now, and her mellow expression gave way to the complete lack of anything behind it. Her eyes shut; they opened. She existed, but little more.

The nurse knelt down in front of Frank, coaxing him with words and smiles, and Frank turned his head to look at him, perhaps having a harder time. Augusta smiled tenderly to Alice and moved around to Frank’s other side, taking his hand and murmuring as well.

Neville’s hand trembled at his side, and found Rey’s. He gripped her tight, interlacing their fingers and squeezing. Rey winced slightly at the power of him, but squeezed back tight. He needed to hold on tight, right now.

“Hey, mum,” Neville said softly.

Alice watched them without any response, mellow. Rey wondered how much she could piece together; if she even knew Neville was her son. She seemed to know she loved him very much, and perhaps that was what mattered.

“I hope you’re doing well, mum,” Neville said with a smile. “I’m seventeen today.”

Alice’s head drooped, and Neville stopped talking. She swayed back and forth on her feet, back and forth, a great pendulum without a clock to bind it. Neville gulped, and Rey squeezed his hand again.

Rey paused, tilting her head. Alice wasn’t looking at nothing, for once; she seemed to actually be looking at something. Rey frowned--then realized.

Alice was studying their hands; at least, as much as she was able to. Interlaced fingers. Alice’s vacant, painted-over eyes blinked. She swayed. Then she started to shuffle forward.

Neville blinked, and Augusta glanced up. The nurse glanced up as well, moving gently to Alice’s side to see if she needed anything. She shuffled forward and forward and finally stopped, standing in front of Neville and Rey. She swayed.

“Mum?” Neville asked in a small voice. Rey could hear the sound of hope whimpering in it, hope that had no grounds to exist. Hope that they both knew would end in heartache, but couldn’t help but continue, because to let it go hurt too much.

Alice put her hands slowly and carefully around theirs.

Rey blinked, confused, not wanting to say anything in case it upset Mrs. Longbottom or did anything wrong. Neville didn’t say anything either, quietly gulping. Alice’s hands were warm, and dry, and soft. There was no effort in her grasp; they limply held on. Yet they encased Neville and Rey’s grip in a warm cocoon.

“Mum?” Neville said again, in a gentler, controlled voice. Alice did not reply, looking at their hands. Rey glanced over at Neville, then back up at her.

Alice slowly looked to Rey’s face, her gaze completely blind--and yet Rey didn’t think she was being looked through. There was a cognition there--barely tangible, but still there. There was a spark of the briefest, glimmering light, trapped in the darkness, that was keeping her heart pumping and her lungs inhaling. And she was looking: first to Rey, then to her Neville.

Neville smiled, weak and trying so hard not to be hopeful. Alice blinked, staring at him, breathing deep and smooth, and her mouth wrinkled upwards slightly. She smiled, and it was empty like the rest of her, but it was nonetheless a smile.

Alice gave their hands the tiniest of squeezes, pressing their grip in against one another, then her arms fell back and she wandered swayingly away.

Augusta was quiet by Frank’s side, still soothing and coaxing him but without success. The nurse smiled, pained, to Neville and Rey and went to look after Alice where she shuffled. Neville’s hand trembled.

Rey looked up at him, worried.

“Outside,” he mumbled, his brow shivering. Rey nodded, quickly moving to the door and opening it, half-pulling him outside to the hallway. They had been told their first time visiting that any emotional outbursts should be done, if possible, in the hallway so as not to disturb patients.

Rey shut the door, and Neville burst into tears.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, putting an arm up and wiping at his face, “M’sorry, I’m--”

“Shh--” Rey murmured, throwing her arms around him and holding him tight. “Shh, Nev-- It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry. It’s okay. I’m here.”

He shook against her, letting out sobs as silently as he could into her shoulder. One hand of hers found the back of his neck and stroked it.

“I’m here.”

There had been a fire.

Where it had started from, Rey did not know. The stones adorning the walls were blackened now with char; the grand towers of Hogwarts were silent and brittling. The great lake frothed with waves, blackened to a kiln’s residue, and amidst their great and impassive tides, a swell of fish had risen to the surface, there remaining with eyes like glass, turned up unseeingly to the sky.

There was a low and quiet humming, as of a bulb burning out. It filled the air and made the hairs of Rey’s neck stand on end. She looked around, but turning was hard, and her vision felt dazed and muddied with sludge. There seemed to be no one else there; but she felt--she _knew_ \--that there were people around.

She took a step forward, and a crunching sound echoed out into the world.

She frowned; the sound was odd, snapping and chaining into itself until that high crunching seemed to rebound into infinity at the horizon. Her eyelids fell and opened again, and she held in her mind the questioning thought what that sound could be.

A bit of snow tickled her face. She brushed it away and more fell silently from the gray sky. She looked down to her feet at what could have made such noise--

Rey gasped, her eyes widening in horror.

The grass was invisible; the ground was covered with the remnants of battle. The grounds of Hogwarts had turned to an open graveyard: under her feet crackled old discarded bones, darkened with age and dressed in tattered robes.

Rey gasped for breath, trying to make her way out of the pile she stood upon. The crunching loudened the more she moved, until the whole expanse boomed with the sounds of broken death. Motionless fingers tried to coil over her feet before she kicked them away; eyeless skulls threatened to bite into her ankle; limbs long separated from muscles and sinew entangled hers the more she struggled away from them.

The snow fell, and Rey’s horrified attention was arrested upwards; a new confusion coming into her mind.

The snow was black.

She looked up at the dark clouds, stricken, and saw that they rose up from the pyre that was once her school. The embers still burned in the broken windows; the smoke above rained ash upon the land.

Rey watched, stunned, terrified--

The smoke hardened above, outlining with cruelty the face of a great black hound. She registered vaguely something Professor Trelawney had once mentioned.

The Grim, an omen of death.

The Grim cast down its yellow eyes and brayed snarling laughter, coughing out a waterfall of ashes from its fangs, and descended its jaws on the bone heap to eat her whole--

Rey woke with a start, clutching her pillow in the dark. Her heart beat violently, and her thoughts smashed the corners of her brain: death, Hogwarts, the students, the Grim, the students?, death, the coming fall semester, Hogwarts--

She’d gone home from St. Mungo’s hours back. Neville had said hi to his dad and they’d gone home. They’d gone up to his room for a bit, talking and looking at his book. They’d kissed, and he’d held her like the rest of the world couldn’t have her even if they’d wanted. Neville was--

(Hogwarts was burning, the Grim was coming, the students were dead--)

Without meaning to or thinking she could, she fell back asleep, and when the morning came she’d forgotten everything about the dream except a feeling that something bad was coming with the autumn.


	4. Two Parties in August

* Chapter Four*

*Two Parties in August*

It was quiet when Rey woke. Bed was cozy, and the sunlight poured in. The house was peaceful, and she nestled back into the pillow, humming blissfully as sleep started to curl around her again.

She opened her eyes, blinking, and a mild frown traced over her face. Why was it quiet? Usually her brothers were bickering; maybe they were outside, doing--

Well, doing what? Dean was happier watching TV and Sam with books blanketing him.

They had to be at work.

Rey sighed, getting up out of bed. They’d all been cagey about work recently--her brothers and her father. Sometimes she’d come home at the same time one of them did, or two, or all three, and they all looked grimly worse for the wear. They never talked about what was going on, and the Daily Prophet seemed keen on talking about the most mundane stories of life instead of the things the people needed to know.

The delightful morning of August 2nd hummed in through the window, and Rey brushed out her hair, making breakfast and getting ready for the day. Thoughts swirled through her mind in the quiet house, and they all came back to one thing.

Voldemort was back; that was a fact no one could deny.

Maybe that was why Harry hadn’t replied to her yet; maybe--

Maybe he was--

She shook her head. Harry was fine; he’d been through worse than this, surely! Besides, she would’ve heard if-- if something had happened to him. The reporters would scream it from the rooftops. Her family would tell her--

And she frowned, mid-bite in her breakfast, because so far her family _hadn’t_ told her, and there most certainly _was_ something happening.

She was making a list of supplies to look for in Diagon Alley when the door opened. There was blustery chatter from her brothers, but Rey knew them well enough to know when it was a charade. Sam was much better at it than Dean was, but neither of their poker faces--or, she supposed, poker voices--were strong enough to survive a moment’s scrutiny.

They’d come back from something, probably overnight. Something rather unpleasant; usually the louder they were about being jovial, the worse it was. She sighed; they did it for her sake, but it’d just be easier--

Rey trotted downstairs from her room, smiling as she saw them. The door was just shut, and the three men looked trashed. Their overcoats were open, their clothes were ruffled up, and her brothers’ eyes looked darkened by a lack of sleep. John’s always had that appearance--and her father was the first to see her, smiling his own poker smile that was far more convincing.

Rey stopped in front of them, smiling and purposely blocking the way in. “How’d, um-- how’d it go, then?”

“Went fine!” John replied, giving her a hearty grin. The boys behind him tried to echo it in their tired faces. It had gone south fast.

Rey took a breath. “Was it someone we knew?”

Sam glanced at Dean and Dean looked at John. John’s grin faded into a comforting smile.

“Did you make breakfast?” John said mildly. “It smells wonderful in here.”

“Yeah, is there any left?” Dean ventured to ask with a too-bold chuckle. Sam shouldered off his coat.

“It’s in the kitchen, help yourself,” Rey mumbled, looking between them and returning her eyes to her father’s. “Is this all secret Auror stuff or am I allowed to know?”

John pursed his lips and thought a moment, taking a breath. “Probably best,” he said after a moment, “to keep everything close to heart, right now.”

Rey nodded and stepped aside for them to go eat. Dean moved the quickest, rubbing his hands together, Sam casting an anxious glance over at their father.

He hadn’t answered about if it was someone they knew, Rey thought--and a thought struck her. She sucked in a breath sharply.

“Was it the wedding?” Rey said in a pale voice, and the three men froze on the carpet. Yesterday, 1 August 1997, had been the Wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour at the Burrow. Rey had gotten the invitation but John had asked gently for her not to attend; it being a little far, and with how dangerous things could potentially be, in traveling. Unhappily, she’d stayed behind.

Sam cast another glance at his father, this time accompanied by Dean.

John sighed, turning to her. “Rey, I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Dad--” she said, taking a step forward, panic starting to grow in her breast. If something had happened--

“Audrey,” he replied in that same gentle tone. She gulped; he was serious when he used her full name. “Please; I can tell you later but not right now.”

Her teeth chattered behind her lips, and she tried to still them quickly. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Audrey.”

“Is anyone _dead?_ ” she continued, taking another step forward. John looked away, poker face still calm, starting to heave off his heavy coat as he moved to the kitchen.

“Later, dear, please; what’s for food--?”

“God-- DAMMIT, _TELL_ ME!” Rey yelled, shaking the house. John stopped where he was, coat half off, and turned his head to her. Behind him, Sam was wide-eyed and Dean had blanched.

She realized her chest was heaving with angry breath, and her eyes were wide and frightened.

“What-- _happened--_ to my friends?” she said, trying hard to keep her tone lower.

John regarded her a moment, then let out a long sighing breath and sat down in one of the living room’s armchairs. Wordlessly, he motioned to the couch, which the boys moved to and sat in, and another armchair facing them all for Rey to take. For a moment, she didn’t move, breath shivering her frame, and anger bubbled up with the fear of the world, settling into a pin of heat directed at her father.

“Please,” John Winchester murmured, motioning again humbly to the chair. Letting out a shudder, Rey moved to it and sat, back poised and limbs full of pins and needles.

“What-- What’s happened?” she asked shakily.

“This is not public knowledge,” John said calmly, glancing first at his boys then at his little girl. “Nor will it be.”

The boys nodded; Rey did likewise.

John let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face, then inhaled. “There was a breakout from Azkaban prison, early to mid July. The Ministry didn’t want it known; and it was a _big_ one. Practically every bastard who follows Voldemort that’d been locked up in the past three years.

“A week or so ago--I’ll remember the proper date when I’m more awake--Death Eaters tried to kill Harry Potter at his home in Surrey.”

Rey’s eyes widened.

“They failed,” John continued. “It was during an extraction the Order of the Phoenix had planned. That plan was a secret, but somehow the word got out.”

“Harry’s all right?”

“Mhm,” John nodded calmly, “he made it to the Burrow in one piece.”

“Did anyone die?” Rey asked quietly.

John said nothing for a moment, then took a long breath. “Alastor Moody.”

“Oh,” Rey said with a paled face.

“Yesterday,” John said, looking at nothing, then he paused. Rey shifted in her seat, listening. The boys were silent. John’s face was blank, his poker face hiding his thoughts, and Rey knew whatever it was was grim. Finally his eyes sparked again, and darted to Rey’s with such an intensity that she shivered.

“Yesterday, the Ministry fell.”

Silence descended again on the house, blanketing them like an impartial blizzard. Rey blinked, a frown slowly starting to form on her face. He said-- but of course he didn’t just say-- but his face was so serious--

“S-- Sorry,” Rey said, feeling her breath starting to come harder, “sorry, you said-- what-- wh-- what do you mean-- ‘f--’ What do you mean, ‘fell’?”

John’s grim eyes hadn’t lost any of their sharp edge. Sam and Dean sat morosely nearby. “I mean just that, Princess. There were officials under the Imperius Curse who took over and opened the doors; the Ministry of Magic is under Voldemort’s control now.”

“No, I--” Rey frowned, blinking, her heart starting to hammer her ribs. “I--” She took a breath, not wanting to register what had been said; wanting to act like she didn’t just hear that. But she did.

“But-- Minister Scrimgeour; he would’ve fought back--”

“Minister Scrimgeour’s dead,” John said simply, taking another long breath. “He was interrogated about where Potter was, and killed.”

Rey stared at her father blankly, then nodded a slow nod, looking down at nothing. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, God.”

“There was an attack at the Burrow,” John said next, and Rey’s gaze snapped back up to him. He waited for her to interject, but she didn’t; waiting to hear him elaborate. “It happened during Bill and Fleur’s wedding reception. No deaths; most of the guests got out, the rest were interrogated.”

“Harry? Ron? Hermione?” Rey asked in a whisper.

“All got out safely,” John said calmly. “Kingsley Shacklebolt managed to warn everyone in time. I’d imagine he saw the Ministry coup and sent word from there.”

Rey slumped back in her chair, thinking. Or, at least, trying to think; the world had become a blur.

“Where’d they go?” she finally asked. “Those three?”

“We don’t know,” John said, and the simplicity in his voice was final. He waited for more questions, but Rey stayed quiet, taking it all in. Her breath was coming much slower; her face felt taut and drawn. Her shoulders slumped and her mind wouldn’t think of anything in particular; it was just--

There was a sense of dread; of coldness in the air. It was all she could register, and it was terrible. The war wasn’t just coming; the war was in full swing, and the public didn’t know--and probably _wouldn’t_ know--that the first battles had been fought and lost.

“Food’s in the kitchen; you should go eat,” Rey heard herself mumble, and before any of them spoke she got up, drifting to the stairs and going up to her room. The boys murmured anxiously behind her, and John said something, then the house was quiet again.

She got into her room and shut the door, standing blankly at the entrance. The sun poured in from the window, a cold bucket of light. She moved over to her bed and sat down on the edge, staring at the wall.

It was quiet, and her thoughts were too loud, too loud, too loud, too

There was a gentle knock on the door. Her father’s knock, followed by his voice asking if he could come in.

“Sure,” Rey mumbled, glancing over at the door as he came in. For some reason, he was blurry, and as he moved over and sat next to her she realized she was crying.

“What’s happening?” she asked quietly. John put his arms around her, his chest warm and comforting, putting his head on hers like a great lion-pelt blanket. Her lip trembled, and she started to weep. “Oh my God, what’s happening?”

Rey woke up to John shouting at the boys followed by heaving clomping upstairs. She blinked the hair out of her eyes, then her door was carefully opened. She sat up, confused.

“See, I told you you’d wake her up! The kitchen needs an exorcism after--” Dean huffed. Sam started a retort, and John smacked both of their heads lightly.

“Probably woke from your arguing, not from the cooking,” he said, throwing the door wider. Sam and Dean both tossed on wide toothy grins, holding a tray of food and some juice.

“Good morning…” Rey said, looking between them all and wondering if she needed to grab her wand…

“HAPPY SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY REY!” the boys yelled, and John echoed it far quieter. Rey started in bed, blinking, coming back to her senses with a blush and a laugh. It was 21 August 1997, and Rey was an adult now in Wizarding Years.

“You cooked?” she giggled, wrinkling her nose at them as they moved over. Dean set the tray down with his grin still threatening to eat his face.

“We did!” he said, “And if you don’t eat every last bite, I’ll take it that you hate my cooking.”

He batted his eyes dramatically. Behind him, Sam made a gagging face, and Rey giggled.

“Some time get out of bed and toss real clothes on,” John said bemusedly. “The family’s all coming today.”  
Rey nodded, taking a bite of breakfast. She chewed in thought, then looked up politely at Dean.

He smiled nervously.

“Well it’s not terrible,” she said, and he huffed, moving back to the door.

“That’s good to know, thanks!”

Rey giggled again and Sam laughed, setting the glass of juice on her nightstand. She smiled up at him, eating and enjoying the meal immensely.

In another hour she’d showered and dressed in a long sky-blue dress. The boys were trying to outdo one another with how much they could clean and John hummed through the kitchen. Rey tried to help tidy up but was emphatically told NO it’s your birthday!

She sighed and sat down, tidying up her books by reading them.

Sooner than she’d expected, the doorbell rang, and Sam yelled he’d get it despite Rey being much closer. Over the next hour or so, all the family from America arrived; in came Gwen, in came Mark, in came Christian and his lovely non-magic wife (who had one of the largest, prettiest smiles every time she saw any magic, no matter what it was. Elise, I think her name is?, Rey thought, but couldn’t quite recall), in came Toby with a coat on that looked like an old tattered quilt--

A table Dean had cleared was littered by a mountain of wrapped gifts, and out in the garden John had put out a large amount of chairs that were immediately snapped up. Pies and snacks had been set up in the kitchen and were devoured--the cake itself wisely _not_ put out yet for anyone to see--and the house became a wonderful den of merry chaos.

Rey’s maternal grandparents came, greeting John at the door with warm hugs and Rey with cooing and the much-anguished-over pinching of cheeks. “Look how grown up she is!” was said multiple times, and Rey laughed through a tight hug, adoring it all nonetheless. (And when Dean smirked her way, he was spotted and descended upon with a much-anguished-over pinching of cheeks and similar cooing, and Rey smirked right back.)  
And, as Rey chatted with her cousins about how America was, the doorbell sounded again and John let in Neville and Augusta, greeting them warmly. Augusta greeted them all in her austere, warm fashion; Neville looked ready to find a dark corner and hide from the large group of extrovertedly loud friends.

“Hey! There he is!” Dean said with a grin, wrapping an arm around Neville’s shoulders.

“Good to see you, Nev!” Sam said, wrapping an arm around from the other side. Neville smiled up shyly at them both.

“H-Hello,” he said. “How are you two?”

“Oh, we’re fine, we’re fine,” Dean said, and Sam nodded.

“Happy Birthday, by the way,” Sam said, chuckling. “The next time we’re out we should grab something to drink.”

“Right,” Neville said, the extra attention making him quite nervous.

Rey saw them finally, huffing and moving over. A blush covered her features and she stopped before her brothers with her hands on her hips. “What _are_ you two doing now?”

“Chatting with Neville,” Dean said innocently.

“Hi, by the way,” Rey said with a sheepish smile, and Neville waved sheepishly back.

“Yeah!” Sam said innocently, lowering his tone so only the four of them could hear. “We’re just being nice to our future brother-in-law!”

Neville and Rey’s faces both did their best to cosplay tomatoes.

“I swear to Merlin I will swat you both in front of everyone!” Rey hissed up at them. Dean and Sam looked blankly at each other.

“What?” Sam said, and Dean continued: “ _You’re_ allowed to cuddle your boyfriend but _we_ aren’t?”

“ _NO!_ ” Rey grumbled as softly as she could, “You are _not_ allowed to cuddle my boyfriend; that’s for me to do!”

Neville’s ears flattened and he stammered something incomprehensible.

“Ah, she admits it,” Sam said astutely, and Rey swatted at her brother’s chests before they could continue.

“Oh fine, fine!” Dean said, letting go; Sam followed. “We’re giving him hell because it’s the older-brotherly thing to do.” Dean patted Neville on the back. “Gotta be protective of the little sis. And all that said, sincerely, Sam and I are glad, about you two; we know there’s no reason to worry.”

Dean smiled, and Sam nodded sagely, saying in a calmly kind voice: “It would be nice to grab a drink with you sometime, Nev, just to chat about life.”

Neville nodded, still crimson, and gave them a weak smile. Rey grabbed hold of his arm, dragging him away from them with a “ _THANK YOU_ ” and turned into the party. As they moved away, Neville relaxed slightly, blushing, and each cousin they ran into greeted them heartily.

“Hi,” Neville managed, glancing at her and giving her a small wrapped box. “Happy Birthday, Rey.”

“Thanks,” Rey said with a shy smile, putting it in her pocket for when they were more alone. “Sorry about-- y’know.”

Neville grinned sheepishly. “At least they care a lot about you?”

Rey laughed, putting an embarrassed hand to her face and nodding.

The hours passed in bliss, and soon enough the cake was brought out without Rey knowing about it. She was laughing over stories of Elise describing house-parties with muggle friends and having to hastily hide all the magic around the house--and suddenly there was a lull in conversation and a swelling chorus of Happy Birthday. Rey looked around and beamed, always feeling sheepish when she was in the center of attention like this, but the room’s adoration was infectious and she couldn’t possibly frown.

She made a wish, keeping it secret in her breast, and blew out the candles to a roaring cheer. The multi-layer cake was torn down and everyone had seconds, swearing it was some of the best birthday cake they’d ever had. Dean nodded sagely, not taking the credit but not elaborating any further than “it was from him,” and John was the one to say “yes, my son _got it from a good bakery_ ,” with an annoyed look that made the room laugh.

The presents came out, and Rey marveled in bemusement at the gifts from America; travel bags, perfume, earrings--those quintessentially “feminine” things she would definitely use harrumph yes yes of course I will go to the store and buy things, yes. She accepted them all with grins and thanks. Christian and Elise had gotten her some items from the non-magical world that she adored going through--books and cards with stationary pictures--and Sam and Dean had less usual gifts; Sam getting her a book on various omens and Dean getting her a lovely little _sharp_ dagger.

(“It’s a necessity!” he insisted.)

John got her a huge box full of candies, saying that sometimes the best things were things to enjoy more in the moment, and ruffled her hair with a proud smile. Rey thanked him, and he handed over a Knotgrass Mead. “No going wild; happy seventeenth, kiddo.”

She laughed, blushing; _so_ not the drinking type, and small libations were poured out and drunken. The party went on, people enjoyed themselves, and when the sun started to descend, the cousins left one by one.

Finally, with so few people left, Rey found herself lounging on the couch next to Neville. They were chatting about the garden; Neville was commenting animatedly that the Winchesters had quite a good patch of land to grow things in--and Rey remembered he’d given her a small gift. She took it out of her pocket, and Nev went quiet, blushing slightly.

Rey blinked at him curiously, then opened the small box and gasped.

“I-It’s-- polished redwood,” Neville said softly, “and polished brass; I, uh-- gold’s a lot more.”

Rey blushed, wide-eyed, looking slowly at him.

Neville’s ears flattened, and he quickly stammered: “I thought you’d like it; I’m not-- I wasn’t asking-- I, uh--”

Rey gulped, pulling out the ring and looking it over. It was beautiful; the redwood gleamed with dull majesty and the edges were circled with what looked like gold indeed. She looked it over with a softening eye, her heart racing, and looked at Neville again. He was bright red and silent, watching her reaction timidly.

“I-- wasn’t-- trying to ask, um-- but-- uh, just--”

A soft, loving smile spread over her features, and she leaned over, kissing him softly. He squeaked, kissing back, and she moved closer, kissing his cheek, his ear.

“Yes,” she murmured in his ear with a loving smile. “Yes, Nev~”

Neville stammered again softly, “I-It’s--”

“Neville~” she murmured, sitting back and blushing sweetly at him. “Yes.” She held out her left hand, and he took it in his. “Please… put it on?”

Neville gulped, taking the ring with trembling fingers and putting it snugly onto her ring finger. He glanced with shy tenderness to her eyes again, finding her admiring the look of her hand.

“I r-really did… just mean it as--”

“I know~” she murmured, blushing and smiling up at him. “So it’s not that. And also, yes.”

He smiled and pulled her close, kissing her softly and sadly too short, nuzzling his head over hers. She sighed in delight, and from the doorway John let out a bemused hum. Rey yelped, blushing, and Neville gulped--but John merely chuckled and turned, leaving them be.

Later, as Rey drifted to bed, she couldn’t remember much about any conversation she’d had with her family that day. The ring was smooth on her finger, and the moonlight came in delicately from the window. The night air was warm and calm, and when she thought of the day later, the main thing she remembered was the feeling of delight the house had had. Peals of laughter had rolled swiftly into the summer sky, and for a day--just one day--everything was all right.


	5. The Broken Alley

* Chapter Five*

*The Broken Alley*

Dean and Sam had insisted on coming with. Rey had initially protested that she and Nev did _not_ need a chaperone, but neither they nor John--nor Augusta, as she learned--would take no for an answer. So, grumbling (though a voice in her mind murmured it’d be much safer), Rey and Nev went to Diagon Alley to get their supplies for the school year, accompanied by two tall, gruff Aurors.

As they walked down Charing Cross Road, Rey noted it was the first real time all summer she’d been away from her home. It was nice, she thought; the streets were bustling and the folks walking along seemed as calm as ever, as if nothing were wrong with the world. Cars drove lazily by, and the grey London clouds threatened rain overhead as they always did. Buildings stood upright; windows were uninspired; the street was illustriously mundane. A few Muggles passing by glanced over Sam and Dean oddly; the brothers’ cloak-like long-coats didn’t exactly match the typical business attire of the street, but nobody commented on anything for the sake of being polite, after all.

Neville and Rey walked close together on the sidewalk, going ahead, though Rey could hear her brothers behind them. Neville had been a bit quieter, and at first Rey had thought he was apprehensive of chatting with them near. He’d finally said that “Gran was a bit-- unhappy, me going out to Diagon Alley, but she finally admitted that I needed to get my books.”

“Is it that bad?” Rey murmured, glancing curiously at him. John had mentioned in passing that Diagon Alley had been attacked, but the extent of the damage hadn’t been said. She hadn’t been there since the start of sixth year, when she and Neville went to Ollivander’s to get him a new wand.

Neville shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. He didn’t know either; he wasn’t looking forward to finding out. Rey put her hand in his for a moment, squeezing, but let go, not wanting to draw more attention from her siblings.

They got to the Leaky Cauldron. Rey always loved the building; the stones slightly mismatching its neighbors in architecture--dripping with moss like scales of some lazily slumbering dragon--and the door of hard wood carved from some grand tree that had held planets in its branches at the start of time. But that was a fantasy, and she smiled as they went under the creaking, swinging sign.

The air was practically a mist, dimly lit from a few tired lanterns and wafting with pipe-smoke. Rey blinked, her eyes always taking a moment to adjust to the pub’s main room. As they did, she saw the familiar sights; the long bar, littered with stools on one side and bottles on the other, the tables with their chairs pressed in, the booths, the plaques outlining key visitors to the pub and its history circling around the walls. The whole place had its typical orange glow, but the more Rey looked through it, the less she felt the comfort of the room.

The barkeep was quiet, looking up from the counter at them with an uneasy expression. Sam and Dean pressed at her back, trotting her forward towards the entrance to the Alley, not wanting to stay here long. There were only two or three groups of patrons, all seated at the outlying booths, all of them too indistinct to make out through the hazy air, all of them looking up to the new folks in the building.

Before Rey could register the pit in her chest, they were out back, in the tiny courtyard that housed barrels, crates, and a flat brick wall. Sam moved by the two students, going to the wall and tapping on the key bricks. He was moving restlessly, Rey thought, and she drew in closer at Neville’s side.

The bricks shifted, the wall seeming to groan before the mortar loosened and fell back. The bricks rotated back around, carving a path open and upwards, finally settling in as a grand ancient archway was formed, leading into Diagon Alley.

Sam stepped to one side, looking to them. Rey and Neville moved closer, curious, looking tentatively through the arch.

Rey’s heart fell against her stomach.

The clouds above had peppered the alley with grey, but even in the sunshine it would’ve been bad. The buildings had lost their luster; the odd angles jutting out into the street had turned from fanciful strangeness into a broken and beaten spirit. The street had few people on it; those who moved did so on the edges, with furtive steps and timid glances over their shoulders, huddled under their cloaks. The cobblestone paths were blanketed with a layer of debris; the rubble of buildings lay chipped and charred and strewn indiscriminately, almost making it look like a hiking trail--but, Rey thought grimly, a hiking trail did not glitter with crystalline shards of broken glass. The windows of the shops had burst; cracks interlaced like spiders legs where jagged glass _did_ remain, and even some of the overhanging signs had been torn down despite all the storms they’d weathered. The whole alley seemed brittle and ashen--the skeleton of an eminent king whose joints were doused in soot.

Neville let out an indistinct murmur of pain, and Rey took his hand, interlacing their fingers and stroking over him with her thumb. He squeezed back, taking a steadying breath.

They moved under the archway, stepping into the broken alley.

The air was charged, Rey thought, and felt it like static in her hair. The air was always charged in the alley; you stepped in and could feel the sunshine in people’s hearts, dripping happily from shop to shop like the tune of a song you once knew. The crowd created a vortex, sweeping you along so smoothly that you didn’t mind stepping into a place you had absolutely no intention of buying anything from. Being there lit people up, crackling, intense.

The intensity was here, Rey thought as they walked slowly down the sidewalk, not taking the middle path anymore, stepping around the rubble and glass where it laid strewn before them, but the sun had gone. It had been a battleground, and whatever had happened, it had lost.

“Where to?” Neville asked softly next to her. She glanced over, seeing his nervous expression. It wasn’t a good idea to take longer than needed, they thought in unison.

“Well!” she said a little loudly, starling him, “obviously Florean Fortescue’s because it is just a _perfect_ day for ice cream, don’t you think?”

She turned her head so suddenly that her hair fell in waves across her glasses. Neville turned to her, befuddled, and she gave him the toothiest grin she could.

Neville burst into well-needed laughter, and Rey giggled with him, brushing her hair back. Ahead of them, the passers-by were leery of the sound, and behind them her brothers were shifting restlessly. But Neville was chuckling, looking much brighter, and she herself felt better. The grey buildings seemed lighter around them.

“Probably ‘Flourish and Blotts’ for books,” Rey said with a hum, and Neville nodded.

“Books, books, books,” he mumbled, still smiling. “I’m sort of surprised our textbooks haven’t drowned us, by now.”

“I mean, your herbology books alone should’ve,” Rey said, grinning up at him as they walked by debris from some unfortunate building. “If you don’t write a book yourself--or become some herbology genius--or better yet, professor!”

“Rey, I just read a lot, I’m not sure I could teach anything,” Neville said sheepishly. His mood was still light, and Rey pounced quickly into conversation to keep it that way--

“Oh, I dunno! You taught me most of herbology the past two years. And not just the stuff that helped me pass with high marks; there was a lot Professor Sprout didn’t cover.”

“Wait, like what?” Neville blinked. “She told me to just work from her lessons; what else did I say?”

“Well for one,” Rey put a finger to her chin and looked up in an expression of intense thought, “that the plants need to be _watered_ sometimes; they don’t just grow.”

Neville laughed again as they entered Flourish and Blotts, practically arm-in-arm.

The grand bookstore was well-lit, and though it was as battered as the rest of poor Diagon Alley, it had made a valiant attempt at regaining some of its previous life. The spines of all manners of tomes brightened the place up with the sunshine of knowledge. There were so many bold titles on every subject imaginable, fiction and nonfiction, and all of them looked welcoming to everyone. The stacks overflowed off the shelves, crashing into the floor and building towers of paper and bindings that reached almost ceiling height in some places. The books littered the long counter that wove around one corner of the store; they kept pace with the stairs as they grew up to the second floor; they were perched all over, helter-skelter, waiting like lazily mewling cats for the right person to pick them up and take them home.

There were a few other students there. None that Rey recognized, beyond the attire of Hogwarts robes. They were tailed closely by their guardians, who looked about as happy at the day as Dean did.

Rey got a list from her pocket, one with the reading requirements. There were the usual ones: the Defense Against the Dark Arts book with the ominous title “Spells and Incantations of Darkness, Revised” the more typical “History of Magic, Volume XVIII, Third Edition,” “Transfiguring for Adept Wizards,” “A History of England and the Surrounding World” for Muggle Studies (Rey was looking forward to it immensely)--

Someone bumped into her as she walked, and there was a squeak of alarm.

Rey looked over the paper, blinking. The person hadn’t pushed her all that much, but Rey seemed to have almost knocked them over--

“Are you okay?” Rey and Neville asked in quick unison. The small girl--definitely a first year, Rey thought--was looking up at them timidly, her dirty blond hair in two braids hanging over her shoulders. Her eyes were rather large saucers, and Rey smiled at once.

“Do you need help finding anything?” Rey said, and the girl shuffled foot to foot, still waiting to be yelled at.

“Cassandra!” a voice from down the way snapped, and the little mouse jumped, darting back towards it. Rey looked after her, frowning, then at Neville. He looked unhappily towards the angry tone, but they couldn’t see the parent. After a moment, Dean gently shoved at her back, prompting her to keep forward.

The smell of the new books was pleasantly overwhelming, and as they walked through the rows, Rey hoped her future home would have a library. A pleasant room, the walls covered with shelves filled to the brim, the rug smooth and soft like a warm ocean tickling their feet, a fire crackling while Nev sat opposite her in a matching armchair, cozy, reading--no, no; bundled up together on the couch--

Another person bumped into her, and before Rey could wonder if such an event could be a new habit, she heard a familiar and angry voice utter:

“Could you watch where you’re going?!”

Her face dropped into a scowl, looking up at the annoyance she knew all too well.

“You’d think you might be able to _see_ better with such thick glasses,” Draco Malfoy snapped, bangs covering his eyes as he looked down and brushed his robes off thoroughly. Rey scowled up at him, and Neville moved halfway in front of her before Sam said cooly, “Is there a problem?” and Rey got the pleasure of seeing Malfoy look up in alarm at the grand tall moose behind her.

“She should watch where she’s going is the problem,” he muttered, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. Neville had positioned himself entirely in front of Rey, but she could still peer out at Draco’s pale face from behind his back, and the more she saw his expression, the more her own fell out of anger and into something else. Whether it was confusion or concern, she wasn’t quite sure.

Malfoy had on his usual sneer, his brows furrowed like some angry scorned owl--but his eyes weren’t in it. She’d seen him look afraid before; when Professor Moody had turned him into a ferret, which had been such a delight--but this wasn’t the same.

He looked genuinely perturbed, almost as if he were ill.

Before she could say anything else, he had a mask of seething on again, grabbing a volume off the shelves and adding it to the stack in his hands. “Just learn how to _move_ , you blind idiot,” he spat out, more to himself, and turned back the way he’d come down the aisle, rushing out of sight.

“Would it kill him to be civil just _once?_ ” Neville grumbled, turning to Rey. “Are you okay?”

She blinked up at him. “I’m fine; he just jostled me.”

“Is he always that wound up?” Dean asked, voice cautiously ambivalent. It was the tone Rey knew he used when he was trying to get information out of someone on a case.

“Yeah, he’s perpetually a spoiled prat,” Neville huffed, shaking his hair. As he sighed, his shoulders deepened, and Rey realized he was just as tense as everyone else there. She looked at the shelves, smiled, picked out a volume and handed it over to him.

“Here you are, Nev.”

“Thanks,” Neville said before he looked at it, then he blinked and smiled confusedly. “Rey, I don’t think Professor Flitwick assigned this one…”

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking benignly at the cover. “He wouldn’t assign ‘Enchanting A Poorly Sculpted Cat Head, and Other Things To Do When You’re Bored’? Are you _sure?_ ”

“I--” Neville blinked again, grinning like a lost hound. “I mean-- maybe-- he would? I don’t think he did though?”

“Well, pick it up anyway; it’s got--” Rey took it again, flipping through and biting back a laugh. “Chapter 29: ‘Trying To Smuggle A Merperson Into A Muggle Water Park’--who even _wrote_ this; Lockhart?”

Neville shook his head, chuckling and putting the book back on the shelf. They moved on in better spirits, finding most of their books and purchasing them at the counter. There were a few Rey could not find, ones pertaining to her more eccentric class choices, most notably the textbook on ghouls and other cryptic beasts. Sam calmly said they could go by Obscurus Books, which Rey had never been to. It was further down, close to the end of the Alley; a little crooked building with black and grey panels and perpetually-opaque windows. It looked dim and dark, but there was always at least one lantern inside that was on, and Rey knew Sam got a lot of his books from there.

Their textbooks were put away in a bookbag enchanted to have a lot more space (and to weigh less than it should, both done with Hermione’s help), and they went out to the street again, looking around.

“Which way is Obscurus?” Neville asked.

“Before we go there,” Dean interjected, “do you two need anything else? New supplies?”

“Besides quills and ink?” Rey knew they had plenty of those at home. Neville was shaking his head politely no, but Rey smiled impishly. “Yes, I can think of one place to go to.”

“Really?” Neville said. “Where?”

“This way!” Rey grinned, heading off down the Alley and turning sharply into Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.

“Rey, why are we--?” Neville started, but then--

“Well _THERE_ he is!”

Neville yelped, and before anyone could move, Madame Malkin had strode over, her mauve dress dimmer in the cloudy day but still as vibrant as ever, white hair perpetually bunned, grabbing fierce hold of his hand and tugging him along over to a small pedestal. “Up, up!” she prodded him, and Neville quickly hopped up onto it. A measuring tape unfolded itself, draping from Neville’s hips down to his ankles. Even the tape seemed to “tsk tsk!” as it continued.

“Honestly, Mr. Longbottom--” Madame Malkin was muttering, quickly jotting the measurements down, “three years without new robes; you’re a growing boy--what, did you expect the London rains to cause a _flood?_ ”

She looked up with a frown followed quickly by a smile, shaking her head and marking more. Neville looked at Rey for help, and she simply gave him and his old robes--which, for goodness sake, were up enough that she could see his pants halfway up to his knees!--a big innocent grin. Dean was outright laughing, trying to keep it to himself.

“Thank you for bringing him in, Miss Winchester,” Madame Malkin hummed, looking over and huffing again, “and don’t _you_ start laughing, Dean; you went five years!”

“My robes fit now!” he quickly protested--

“ _Now_ , yes,” she grumbled to her notepad. “Merlin help me; the lot of you--”

But she smiled again, striding off into the back and rustling around cloth. Neville stood awkwardly on the pedestal as the measuring tape twirled around his chest, his arms, his neck, his head, and finally got bored enough to start measuring the space of each nostril--then Madame Malkin came back, a velvety new set of robes folded neatly in her arms. “Here we are, dear.”

Neville stepped down, taking them from her with a sheepish thanks, and Rey moved over, paying for the robes herself; insisting on it, since she was the one to drag him in there. Madame Malkin smiled a bemused, knowing smile, looking between them two, and once again the party set out in search of Obscurus Books.

Sam guided them down the street to the dark edifice Rey was expecting. As usual, a lantern was flickering inside, but the windows looked like they were suffering from the effects of winter already; aptly obscured.

They went in, and a bell above the doorway dinged out their arrival.

In a way, it was exactly as Rey had thought it would be. The store was dark--the walls and the shelves were painted black--but there was still a lot of light, though where it came from she could not make any sort of guess. Directly in front of them was the counter, which seemed surprisingly high, and behind the counter were shelves packed to the brim. Volumes had spilled over, and seemed to be almost haphazardly lying around; some singularly on the floor, some on the tops of shelves, some on the counter itself.

There seemed to be no one else there, and as the door shut behind them, the store settled into a perfect kind of silence. The dust settled, untouched, along the tops of everything.

“Jeovan?” Sam called out.

All at once, a thin man with wispy black hair and thick black glasses raised up from behind the counter. Rey started and took a step back, and his magnified eyes blinked like large flapping wings in their general direction.

“Sam Winchester,” the man apparently named Jeovan said with an air of frustration, “Do I ever come to your store and start shouting?”

“I don’t have a store,” Sam said patiently.

Jeovan paused, then nodded. “No, I suppose you don’t. That does make it rather hard for me to shout in it. What is it you fine people need?”

No one spoke, so Rey cleared her throat. “I’m-- uh, looking for a textbook. ‘Ghouls, and Other Devourers of Darkness,’ by Philius Pott.”

“Ah! A wonderful book; very fascinating!” Jeovan said with a smile, extending out a long arm. “Jeovan Bastaine, owner and proprietor of Obscurus Books, at your service, Miss..?”

“Winchester; Audrey Winchester. I go by Rey.” She shook his hand. He had a very relaxed grip, and surprising warmth to him.

“Marvelous! I’m glad to meet you, little Rey of sunshine. And you, Mr…?” Jeovan turned his spectacled eyes to Neville.

“Uh, Neville--”

“Mr. Neville; what are you looking for?”

“I-- uh,” Neville said, blanking. “I’m not-- looking for anything; we’re here for Rey’s textbook--”

“Yes, yes, obviously, but--” Jeovan waved impatiently, “--what do you read?”

“Uh--”

“Fiction; nonfiction?”

“Mostly-- herbalism textbooks,” Neville said faintly. Rey smiled next to him.

“Ah!” Jeovan said, wandering out from behind the counter and to a shelf, “Good; good start, something fiction then--”

“We’re not browsing,” Dean said gruffly--

“Of course you’re browsing; you’re _always_ browsing,” Jeovan said quickly, flicking a hand back at them--turning around and smiling politely. “How do you know you need something if you haven’t discovered what it is?”

They waited. Sam cleared his throat, and Rey bit back a smile, looking at Dean’s perplexion.

“Hm,” Jeovan uttered, turning back to the shelves and stooping low to other dust-covered spines. “Do you mind Muggles, Mr. Neville?”

“No?” Neville said, looking to Rey then up at Sam. Sam smiled reassuringly.

“Wonderful! Then--” Jeovan hefted out a heavy book with a green leather spine, “HERE WE ARE!”

He brought it back, setting it on the counter, patting its cover.

“‘The Compendium of Flora’,” he announced proudly. “A collection of fiction from the Muggle world revolving around nature--though not all about plants. Let’s see, there’s ‘The Flowering of the Strange Orchid’, ‘Green Thoughts’, ‘The Reluctant Orchid’--and I hear they made a film or two based on those, something about horrors and a plant named Audrey that ate people--”

He winked in Rey’s direction, and she laughed.

“--and others; ‘The Demoiselle d’Ys’, ‘The Colour Out of Space’--there’s a ton; there’s a ton, and not all about horror, those are just the interesting ones--”

Jeovan hummed and moved away into the stacks again. Neville moved to the counter, looking at the book almost timidly. The others came over, Dean running his fingers over the book first as a precaution. Nothing happened; it was a book.

“I don’t suppose you got in--” Sam called to him--

“NO, I don’t have it; stop asking!”

Sam blinked, then cleared his throat.

“Here, then--” Jeovan came back, humming, tossing down a small, fat paperback on the counter. The cover said “Librum Demonicus Femina”.

“That’s terrible latin,” Dean said.

“Yes, but your cup of tea,” Jeovan said absently, turning to the register. “Is that all for today?”

“I--” Rey blinked, then smiled sheepishly. “I still need my textbook, sir.”

Jeovan turned to her, eyes blank, then he started and rushed away into the stacks. “Yes! Sorry; be right with you!”

Dean picked up the paperback, flipping through it--

“Woah!” he said, closing it again.

“Illustrations?” Sam asked. Dean nodded, putting the book down.

“So you’re definitely getting it?” Rey hummed, sounding bored by him. Dean nodded again. Neville’s ears were quite red, and he flipped through the large tome on plants to distract himself.

Jeovan returned with a leather-bound book that gave off a chill, setting it down carefully. Faded gold lettering was etched into the cover, which itself was an old and darkening gray. “It was modeled after a first edition, made with real ghoul-hide, you know,” Jeovan nodded astutely, looking at her, then beamed at the four of them and turned to a register.

“You’re very strange, you know that?” Dean said.

“Where’s the fun in normalcy?” Jeovan said, clicking in the numbers at the register. He looked up at them, as if actually expecting an answer. “Exactly! None. Hush. Here, then--”

The total was higher than they’d expected--but they had only expected to pay for one book, after all. Neville slipped his and Rey’s books into her bag, and Dean quickly pocketed his in his robes, flustered. Sam looked dejectedly empty-handed, but he had plenty of books back home.

And speaking of home, Rey thought, they’d better be getting back.

As they left Diagon Alley, her face started to fall. It was hitting her more clearly now how much damage had been done here. Every other year, she would’ve loved to spend all afternoon dancing up and down the street, fighting her way past the other clamoring kids to the shop windows; _wow_ look at that! A real Firebolt--but there were no clamors at all. The children there were clasping their parents’ hands. The owls had been taken inside Eeylops Emporium. There was no line to get into Gringotts. There were no firecrackers lighting the air up with whimsy.

There was rubble and broken glass, and the desire to buy what you need and get quickly away.

Her gaze came around, finding what looked to be the worst-hit building. It was charred black, the wooden front brittle and flaking away with each breath of the breeze. The insides had been carved into destruction from some relentless knife; dimly she was aware of a multitude of small boxes and broken items. A sign, blasted in half and lying singed and defeated, held half of the name “Ollivanders” on it. It had been only boarded up the year before; now it seemed as if someone had taken out their frustrations on it.

But then it too was gone, as was the whole of Diagon Alley, as Rey went back through the brick arch into the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron, and the familiar sounds of drizzly London met her ears again.


	6. The Train from Platform 9 and 3/4

* Chapter Six*

*The Train From Platform 9 and ¾*

September came with initial rains and then a steady gust of wind that chilled the land dramatically from Summer’s grasp. The time was fast approaching for a return to school--and how that would work, Rey did not know. The wind sighed through the eaves, drifting against the windows and away into the sea, and Rey stood out in the backyard and studied the sky, as if the clouds might murmur the answers.

How could Hogwarts run, now that Dumbledore was gone?

A faint smile touched her lips as she thought of stepping foot in the Great Hall and seeing Headmistress Minerva McGonagall standing to greet them. And it wasn’t because she was a Gryffindor--she was obviously the best candidate to take the role!

So when the news came, a few weeks before school’s start, who the next Headmaster was, Rey thought it had to be a bad joke.

It was Sam who brought the news to her; she was upstairs packing, humming and looking through everything she owned to stuff a trunk full of clothes--and moving the mewling kitties out of the warm box. There was a knock, and she looked around to find the Moose at her door.

“Oh, you came to help me pack? Great, I could use the help!” she grinned, but her humor was cut at the knees seeing his face.

“What?”

Wordlessly, he handed the paper over. She blinked, looking it over; the front page hand large text and an article about “EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH GRINGOTTS BANKER: LEARN THE SECRETS OF THE SAFEST BANK IN WIZARDOM!” and she glanced up curiously at Sam. He waited, and she glanced back through it--

Her face froze, her brain buffering as it tried to make sense of the title she’d read.

Oh, it was plain enough. Plain as day. But the words were-- they didn’t make sense. It wasn’t an option; it was just not a combination of words that could exist.

“SEVERUS SNAPE ANNOUNCED NEW HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS: SAYS HE IS ‘HONOURED’ TO SUCCEED ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, more on page 5:”

Rey reread it. Again. She looked at Sam. He nodded quietly. She let out a small humorless laugh, watching her brother and waiting for him to say it was a joke. From the page, Snape’s black gaze attempted something resembling interest, and a smile curled up like a wince.

Sam wasn’t changing his expression, and Rey shook her head slightly, turning to page 5:

“NEWS FROM HOGWARTS: The premiere wizard school--which, as faithful readers may remember, tragically lost its beloved Headmaster at the end of last year--who, with love and admiration, was the esteemed Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, whose deeds in life even _we_ would be hard-pressed to list here--Please look for our special edition, THE CHARISMATIC LIFE OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, now in its fifth printing--has a new Headmaster now, in the person of Severus Snape.

“Headmaster Snape--”

Rey shivered.

“Headmaster Snape is far from a stranger to Hogwarts! A resident of Slytherin House during his own schooling days, Mr. Snape has been the Potionsmaster of Hogwarts for so long now that multiple generations of wizards cannot but help to associate each and every vial and cauldron with his wise tutelage--more recently, however, Mr. Snape was awarded the long-sought-after position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher just this last year. His star rising, Mr. Snape’s youthfulness ensures that he will be Headmaster for a good long while, as the post is rarely given up by the current Head until their passing away. This is likely due to the Headmaster--or Headmistress--being chosen with every ounce of wisdom and clarity in mind, and their being well-suited to the part.

“With his illustrious history behind him, we have no doubt here at the Daily Prophet that Mr. Snape will be well-suited to and well-loved in the role, even with some inevitably comparing and criticizing his methods or plans with his immediate predecessor. Good luck, and best wishes, to Headmaster Snape and the students of Hogwarts!

“Belius Beggarsworth, Prophet Corresponder”

“Is this a joke?” Rey asked in a wispy voice, looking up at her brother. Sam closed his eyes, sighing and shaking his head no.

“This is--” Rey paused, swaying where she stood, blinking rapidly at the paper then tossing it carelessly on the bed. “Are you-- Are you kidding me?”

She asked it of no one in particular, and looked out the window at the sky and its prophetic clouds beyond. A slew of curses and shouting bubbled in the back of her throat, and her face twitched with the seething mass--then a thought struck her.

She stalked to the door. “Move,” she whispered, and Sam jumped back. “Sorry, just-- sorry.” She rushed downstairs, grabbed her broom, and threw open the door, taking off.

The ride was familiar and quick, and she landed easily at the Longbottom’s house. She didn’t even have to knock.

Neville was tending to the garden, his usual sunshine gone. He looked up as she landed, his face smiling for a moment and his eyes crushingly miserable. She moved through the gate and threw her arms around him, and they shook together, angry and afraid.

.

* * *

King’s Cross station bustled with the normally grumpy assemblage of persons--mostly Muggles in suits stressing over their jobs--among whom Rey pushed her carriage. The few trunks on it were heavy with books and clothes, and her broom had been parceled up in an oblong box that occasioned a few stares from passersby. Neville drew more; he always did, his carriage equally packed but with the addition of Trevor the toad croaking balefully atop it. Daaaad, it’s cooolllld.

Sam and Dean flanked them with grisly faces, as if they’d be snatched away in the middle of the whole station. John and Augusta talked about completely unimportant matters behind them.

Walking between the trains on the long concourse, Rey glanced up at the rain-splattered windows and the dull sky beyond. Hell of a way to start the year--but she hummed and thought, as she had the past few weeks, that maybe it would be an all right year. Maybe nothing would go wrong.

The party arrived at their destination between platforms 9 and 10, and Rey’s brothers glanced around--trying painfully to look impressive and authoritative, making Rey groan--and proclaimed the coast clear. She looked at Neville with a bemused sigh, and he looked right back.

“You first,” he said with a bright smile, and Trevor croaked again, pouting.

Rey turned to the large pillar, taking a breath. She’d done this--how many times now?--and still the brickwork was daunting! It arched up, overhead, each brick tightly packed in with dried mortar; it must weigh--

She chuckled at herself; stop _stalling_ \--and rushed headlong at the column--

As ever, it melted away, and Rey emerged with a merry gaze at Platform 9 & ¾ and the Hogwarts Express, black and red and silver, smoke billowing from the chimney of the front car. A mass of students and parents bustled around, and from the owls and cats and pointed hats drifting along the platform, Rey beamed happily that here was her crowd. Behind her, Neville came through, breathing out heavily and grinning, brushing his sandy hair out of his eyes. It always made him nervous; he’d told her that years ago.

They were joined by their families, moving towards the train with nodded pleasantries at the familiar faces. Yet Rey’s smile tripped against her features; there was a noticeable difference in the crowd. It was always a frenzy to get everything packed and everyone on the train--but it was also a joyous and tearful and dramatically laughing time. The people were more markedly nervous today--more firm about getting things squared away--quieter and watching. And, she observed sadly, there were many faces in the crowd she _didn’t_ see; many “Muggle-borns” or “half-bloods” that, perhaps, had just boarded earlier! But she knew that wasn’t the case.

There would be a lack of friends, but no lack of enemies.

Down the way, she could see a large group of Slytherins, chatting and packing away their things. Malfoy darted onto the train quicker than the rest, who schmoozed about; Pansy Parkinson, Ollivier Thorne, Zanarrius Crowley--

Zanarrius, a hulking git who spent most of his life with his brown hair over his eyes and his hands tapping impatiently on desks, glanced her way and sneered. She scowled at him, then thankfully he followed the rest of them into the train--

She blinked. Among them, the little figure that had bumped into her--Cassandra, was her name?--followed. Rey knew instantly who it was; the girl’s golden mane bobbled with each step.

“Wouldn’t have guessed she was one of _their_ younger sisters,” Neville said next to Rey, surprised.

“Yeah, she seemed actually nice,” Rey murmured--

“Honestly you two, are you _ever_ going to say hi?!”

Rey laughed before she looked around, and as she did, Ginny had thrown herself at Rey and grappled her into a hug.

“See, Rey, I _knew_ right from the start you two would be too busy with each other to notice your poor friends anymore!” Ginny murmured, grinning and squeezing tight.

“Breathe--!” Rey laughed-- “I need to breathe, you banshee!” She hugged back tight as Ginny loosened her grip, giggling.

“‘Banshee?’ Please, Rey, you stinky wrackspurt--when have I ever called you names?”

Behind young Miss Weasley, Arthur and Molly chuckled, arm-in-arm, giving the kids hugs once Ginny had darted away. “Hello,” was muffled into both of them, and yes, indeed; hello, oh my goodness how _are_ you? and congratulations on turning seventeen! and oh my how tall you got over the summer, Rey; glad to know John’s actually _cooking_ a meal-- (John raised his arms defensively, grinning) and _Neville, dear, hello!_ \--

Behind the Weasleys, Luna waited politely as well, having walked up with them but not crowding, waving delicately and smiling. Rey grinned and waved back while Neville was swarmed, moving over to her.

“Teaching Ginny all about wrackspurts, I see.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Luna said, blinking innocently as a huge smile broke over her face. Rey laughed and hugged her.

A thought clouded the day, and she looked around as she let Luna go again. “Where’re the others?”

Of the Weasley clan, only Arthur, Molly, and Ginny had come to King’s Cross. Ron was nowhere to be seen; nor Hermione, nor Harry, who both usually arrived with the jostling and jovial brood of red-headed siblings. Rey looked around to find Arthur and Molly glancing hurriedly at one another, then Ginny scoffed.

“Ron got spattergroit.” She stuck out her tongue in a fake-retching face. “He stayed home, and we haven’t been _near_ him so don’t worry about catching it from us. Boys are disgusting--Neville excluded, of course.”

Neville grinned sheepishly, as he always did whenever the attention was directed his way. Luna smiled amicably, but as Ginny turned away to get on the train and got tackled into hugs from her parents, Rey’s thoughts slipped back into that cold day at the start of summer. The funeral had ended, and they were leaving. And Harry looked--

Old, Rey thought. He’d looked old, and tired, and afraid. Like a soldier coming back from war. And he had to go searching the world--

( _Multiple items; no context. All or nothing._ )

Of course the others would go with him; she’d known that right from then on. But there was still something missing now in the day--an undefinable hollowness that tore away the colored picture of the Express, and the students, and the balmy dream that it was just like any other year.

And all too soon, bags had been packed away, hugs had been exchanged, and as the steam whistled hurriedly from the front of the Hogwarts Express, the students clambered on. The platform started to move, receding, and Rey caught through a fleeting window the image of their families, standing quietly like fading memories, waving, then gone as rain enshadowed the world.

“C’mon, Rey; there’s one spot left!”

Ginny’s voice floated to her ears, and Rey turned and smiled, finding her friends waiting by an open door. Ginny grinned.

“And there’s a familiar face here, accompanied by a familiar smell--”

“I showered! I’m more worried about _you!_ ” the protesting voice of Seamus Finnigan called from within the compartment.

Rey grinned, moving to them and into the room. Neville scooched over, Trevor docilely snoozing in his lap, and she sat close next to him, unable to stop a delighted warmth from spreading through her; back again on this train, with friends, going to school. Seamus grinned across from them, hair inevitably ruffled.

“Good to see you two,” he said. Neville nodded happily, and Rey giggled.

“Do you want a brush, for your hair?”

Seamus huffed, crossing his arms and smiling nonetheless. “Maybe not so good to see you, then.”

Ginny chuckled, sitting down next to Seamus, across from Rey. There was only room enough for four, and Luna moved shyly away--squeaking with wide-eyed surprise as she fell into Ginny’s lap, Ginny having pulled her firmly in with a bright and impish smile. Her arms wrapped around Luna’s waist, and Luna slowly settled in, giving in to the predicament. Ginny glanced around, as if daring one of them to comment on it, but she was met with mild and knowing smiles, and Seamus cleared his throat.

“So how were your summers?”

Nobody spoke, but since Seamus could most easily look at Neville--and since Rey looked up at him (he was handsome, shush!)--he quickly spoke up.

“Mine was good! Worked on my nan’s garden; I started mixing in some non-magical plants too.”

“It’s really impressive,” Rey purred.

Neville grinned shyly. “It’s just following instructions and giving them water and sun..”

“It’s really impressive,” she repeated, beaming to the other three.

“Otherwise,” Neville continued, “not much; going to the ocean when the weather was good..”

“Turning seventeen..” Rey said solemnly.

“YEAH! Seventeen! Adulthood!” Seamus said, raucous and grinning and making them all laugh--Ginny shaking her head bemusedly and muttering “boys” into Luna’s ear.

“And that’s about it,” Neville concluded, glancing at Rey with a bright smile.

“How ‘bout you, Rey?” Seamus inquired, and their attention swiveled her way.

Before she could speak, Luna asked in a quiet, clear voice: “Did you get married?”

Rey blinked at her, and Neville blushed crimson.

“Well, you’re wearing a ring,” Luna motioned, and Rey glanced at her hand, blushing as well and holding up her left hand, Neville’s gift around her ring finger.

A collective “ _OoooooooooooooOOOH~_ ” went up in the cabin, and Trevor woke up with a reproachful croak, settling back into Neville’s lap.

“But there’s none on Neville’s hand,” Ginny pointed out.

“Oh, so they just got engaged--”

“It’s a _present!_ ” Rey laughed when she could finally get a word in edgewise. “ _Just_ a present.” She didn’t need to look at Neville to know he was dying in his seat.

“ _Just_ a present?” Ginny said, looking between them. Neville’s ears flattened back. Rey felt her own face burning, but couldn’t resist--looking up at Neville and murmuring, “ _Just_ a present?”

Neville half-laughed, covering his face with his free hand and looking out the window, red as a tomato. Rey giggled and put a hand over his, squeezing momentarily.

“Not, um--”

They all paused, and Rey blinked up at him.

“Not-- just-- i-if-- if you’d wanted--” he was mumbling. Rey’s heart skipped against her ribs, and the others got very quiet indeed. Smiling softer, she leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“I already said yes when you gave it to me, love.”

Neville somehow turned redder, but a smile crept happily over his face. Luna applauded them softly, and Ginny did her best to as well, arms still wrapped up. Seamus followed suit, then stuck out his tongue.

“You two, honestly--I forgot how sweet you were; I might hurl.”

“Oh, sorry to disrupt your delicate constitution!” Rey laughed, and Seamus grinned back at her.

“So aside from getting engaged--” Ginny asked, Neville squeaking-- “--how was your summer, Rey?”

Rey shrugged and grinned. “Not much to talk about; mostly stayed at the beach, or--”

Or--

Or thought of what was going to happen. Of where Harry was going to disappear to. Of what items he had to find, if he could find them--

“Rey?”

She glanced back at them, and the smiles had faded. They all watched her, not with curiosity, but with knowing.

She turned to Ginny. “Ron doesn’t have spattergroit, does he?”

Ginny swallowed, then shook her head slowly. Rey looked out the window, thinking, and no one spoke.

Outside, the city had fallen away, and the grey farmlands were becoming marshes under the rain.

“I talked to Harry,” Rey said softly, “on the last day of school.”

The others turned to her. Ginny tensed, hugging Luna’s waist tighter. Luna put a hand over her arm, petting slowly.

“He’s not coming, but I guess we all knew that by now. Nor are Ron and Hermione, I’d imagine. He looked scared, then.” She’d only told all this to her father and her brothers; Neville frowned concernedly next to her. “And he said he had to search for things that were hidden. Things that could defeat-- Voldemort. And he didn’t know anything about what they were, or where.”

The compartment was deathly silent. The train rushed on, passing acre after acre.

“He was attacked when he left his house, and again at Bill and Fleur’s wedding,” Rey said tiredly. Neville, Seamus, and Luna gasped; Ginny started in her seat, surprised in a different way, and Rey managed a weak smile. “I live with three Aurors, Ginny; I know a lot of what’s not spread in the Prophet.”

There was another pause, longer, as Rey grappled with the rest of it, all swirling in her head.

“There’s-- things-- other things, I can’t say. Because they’re too-- I can’t. But I’m nervous about what’s going to happen next, because it’s going to get ugly, I think.”

Neville put a warm hand over hers. She stopped speaking, then shook her head slightly.

“That’s why Dean isn’t here,” Seamus said, and they turned to him. He looked wistfully out the window, and his voice had betrayed a deep, deep pain. It must be hard with us here, Rey thought all at once; two couples, and Seamus. “My mum didn’t want me coming back either, this year. Had to fight her tooth and nail to let me.” Another pause. “I hope Dean’s all right.”

“Of course he is,” Luna said, surprising them all. She smiled, face bright in the dim day. “If there’s one thing we all know about Mr. Dean Thomas, it’s that he’s sturdy. He can take care of himself, certainly, and probably misses us all as much as we miss him.”

Seamus said nothing, then nodded softly.

Squeaking came from outside their cabin, and the Trolley Lady stuck her head in. “Anything off the trolley, dears?”

The mood broken, there was a brief laugh and a few candies bought, and as she left Ginny scrunched up her face and huffed dramatically about “Rey bringing the mood down.”

“Oh, yes; it’s such a charming day to begin with!” Rey grinned, motioning outside, where the sun had started setting and there was little to see but the splattering raindrops.

They ate quietly, then Rey gasped and looked expectantly at Seamus and Ginny.

“Did you two see Krum, by the way, against Egypt? We’ve _got_ to try some of those moves in practice, and besides, those two teams--I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the next World Cup match--”

Neville and Luna sighed patiently while the other three talked Quidditch animatedly. The hours rolled on, and they all changed into their robes as time passed them by. Rey thought briefly of bringing up the news about Snape--but decided against it, seeing how her friends were laughing and discussing far pleasanter topics.

Then, they realized that around them there was motion. The five frowned, hearing feet in the hallway.

The rain was falling straight. The train had stopped.

The door to the compartment was thrust open. In the hall, three tall men, faces grizzled, eyes flinty, watched. Rey looked at them, stunned, and a pit formed in her chest. Names murmured in her ears who each were. Death Eaters.

“He’s not here, you gits!” Seamus finally piped up, and the men swiveled their eyes angrily to him. There was no breathing in the carriage--but he was right. Harry Potter wasn’t there.

The men moved back, and Rey quickly shut the door. Nobody spoke; listening. The footsteps went down the hall, there were voices, and the minutes dragged on. Then the train finally started to move again.

Rey shivered, and Neville carefully put an arm around her. She curled her legs up onto the seat, gulping and thinking. She realized the other three were looking at her carefully, wondering what more she might know from what her family had told her, but nothing was asked. Seamus turned to look out the window, and Ginny hugged Luna tighter, nuzzling against her yellow-white hair.

The hours passed, and a small murmuring of conversation half-heartedly started and ended again. The rain fell. Rey dozed off--

Neville gently shook her awake. She looked up at him, smiled softly, then around.

The train had stopped. Outside, the sky was black, and clouds had covered the stars and even the moon’s pale face. Steam rose thick like fog, and a breath of cold air whispered against the glass and passed away again, waiting in the darkness to chill the students. The lantern-light of the Hogwarts station was dim, and through the misty air there was no indication of the castle beckoning them, nor of any land or home for miles and miles around.

All was quiet, even as the compartments bustled nearby, the students stretching their legs and exiting into the night. But there was no movement of anyone in their compartment until Rey cleared her throat, smiling around at her friends, and murmured:

“We’ve arrived.”

  
  
  



	7. Welcome to Hogwarts

# *Chapter Seven*

*Welcome to Hogwarts*

Neville was nervous.

That was nothing new, he supposed; in some ways he’d always been nervous. He’d been nervous when he was in potions; he’d been nervous going to the Ministry with the DA; he’d been nervous kissing Rey for the first time (but that was a much nicer nervousness). Hell, he’d been nervous getting his acceptance letter into Hogwarts, thinking about the castle with such large stone walls and the semi-mythic figure of Albus Dumbledore.

This was a different kind of nervous.

As they moved through the familiar doors, it struck him how guarded the castle was. It seemed so easy last year to sneak in--but now that he was here again, he wondered how anyone could possibly sneak out. And the pit of nervousness expanded through his stomach, and as he looked up at the familiar, well-lit hallway, with its grand stairs leading up into Hogwarts Castle, tinged and frosted with the night’s cold breath, he realized it wasn’t really nervousness at all he was feeling.

It was dread.

Rey was walking next to him, looking up as well with a similarly uncertain expression. Neville glanced at her and thought for the millionth time how beautiful she looked. The firelight flickered along her hair, haloing her features in a tenderness that made him forget for a moment about the quiet surroundings. But the quietness brought him back; the grand entrance was silent, save the clatter of students’ feet on stone. Even Seamus behind him wasn’t chattering along.

There was an uncertainty, an anticipation, and a silence that blanketed the place like a tomb. And for the first time, Neville wondered exactly how large _was_ Hogwarts? How many great spaces were silent, waiting, watching them.

The seventh-years led the pack, and Neville swept around right into the Great Hall. And it was only when Seamus bumped into his back did he remember to keep moving.

The long Hall was dour in its resplendence. Candles hung in the hundreds, suspended over everything and lighting up the conjured clouds in the dark rafters above. There were no stars, nor hints of moon. A great fire boomed in the hearth at the side, scattering violent red over the empty tables. At the far end, the teachers watched.

In the middle, with snide and bitter eyes, Severus Snape was placed at the Headmaster’s seat.

Neville gulped, and moved along with Rey, and in a few moments they had sat at the Gryffindor table together, Seamus on Neville’s other side and Ginny across from them. The students filed in without a whisper, caught under Snape’s hawkish stare, until the clicking of heels on the cobbled stone was merely an echo and all sat utterly, deathly silent.

Rey’s hand found Neville’s under the table and clung to it. He squeezed back almost desperately.

There was no speaking. No movement. Only waiting. Neville noticed that Hagrid wasn’t at the table up front, nor was Professor McGonagall. He smiled wanly; they would be escorting in the first years. Adding fresh blood into this changed, twisted place that was supposed to be light, happy.

Minutes passed. Snape made no movement, nor did his staff beside him. The candles above rose and fell. The plates all along the long tables were empty, and almost seemed to be filling with dust. The night grew longer overhead, enveloping the clouds with darkness.

Finally there was noise outside the Great Hall, noise and movement and through the doors Professor McGonagall strode in emerald robes, elegant and topped with her wide and pointed hat as ever, looking far tireder and more serious than Neville remembered--even from Dumbledore’s funeral. Behind her marched, in twin lines, the tiny forms of new students, all of whom looked increasingly terrified and all of whom Neville thought looked so young. And he wondered if he had ever looked like such a young lad; a baby who had learned the alphabet and gone shopping and now stood meekly at school, surrounded by elders.

_But I’m not old!_ , he thought with a mild smile; _when I was a first year all of the seventh years were so old!_

Rubeus Hagrid brought up the rear of the silent, solemn procession, trying to muster up a smile under his mountainous beard but not quite remembering how to. He glanced around the hall at the students assembled, finding Neville and Rey and Ginny, who all beamed at him and he at them, but they could see him searching for the three who were gone, and how crestfallen he looked when he realized it.

Professor McGonagall stopped at the head of the Hall, near the teacher’s table, in front of Snape. He watched her impassively, then looked out over the children in front of him. The lines stood motionless and pale. Neville wanted badly to reach out to them, even to _one_ of them, and tell them that everything would be okay.

“Welcome, first years,” Snape said with hideous practice. His voice had not changed in the slightest; it slipped from word to word like tar, only now it had an added air of complete power that made Neville shudder. Rey’s grip was tight, and he could feel her arm shaking slightly under the robes. His own heart thudding, he stroked his thumb over her knuckles.

Professor McGonagall waited to see what else the Headmaster had to say. He sat back; she cleared her throat and moved away from the new students for a moment, getting a four-legged stool and the old, crumpled Sorting Hat to place upon it. She set them down, as ever, in front of the first years, and waited. Everyone stared at it, and Neville stared too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth--and the hat began to sing:

_“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_

_But don’t judge on what you see,_

_I’ll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There’s nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can’t see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you’ve a steady mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You’ll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don’t be afraid!_

_And don’t get in a flap!_

_You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I’m a Thinking Cap!”_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song--though Neville didn’t have to guess to know it was far more muted this year than boisterous. The hat bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be seated,” she said. “Aberon, Simon!”

A timid little boy with long brown bangs falling over his glasses stepped forward, and so it began.

Simon Aberon went to “RAVENCLAW!” and Luna clapped bright and cheerful for him. He went over; “Acosta, Terry” was next and looked even more timid. “GRYFFINDOR!” the hat yelled, and the boy made his way meekly towards their table. Neville smiled and clapped, and a thought drifted through his mind that the first year looked as shy as a baby pygmy puff. That’s fine, though; first years were always timid and this year especially there was reason to be.

It went on and on, and before long “Crowley, Cassandra!” was called and Rey leaned forward, frowning. Neville gulped, watching the little girl with her blond hair in large pigtails step forward to the hat. Her gaze drifted towards Slytherin, and Neville caught a glimpse of Zanarrius watching her. How the two could possibly be related, he had no idea--

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat cried, and Cassandra’s face froze in rigid fear. Zanarrius had no expression; his buddies glanced at him; Cassandra slinked away to the table which was welcoming her delightedly and probably knew nothing of her family. Rey looked up at Neville, and he looked back at her; that was going to get ugly.

The students fell one after another to the tables, and by the time they had gotten to the Ts, Neville’s stomach was rumbling. He sat with good humor, though Seamus was getting more and more fussy as he did every year, and clapped for each student, welcoming the new Gryffindors as they passed by him. Asami Policki, a first year girl with long dark hair and a rather fiery gaze, had sat next to Ginny and the two were rapidly becoming as thick as thieves.

When it was finally over and the last student (“Zacharius, Leslie”) was sorted (“SLYTHERIN!” and she had gone over, curious and looking far too polite for some of the sneers there), Snape sat up straighter, inhaled sharply through his hawk nose, and clapped his hands together once, sending a shiver through the room. With no opening words, the sumptuous feast appeared on their plates, and the students gratefully dug in.

As they ate, there was initially little talk. Everyone was hungry, and the little bits of communication were from Rey playfully nudging against Neville’s knee with her own. He smiled lightly; across the way Ginny scoffed, and once people had taken a few initial bites, the bleak heaviness of the room was broken enough that there was banter, and more than banter there were introductions, and happiness.

Asami Policki was from a family of five, and both her parents and her siblings were magically gifted. Rather embarrassed, she shared at Ginny’s insistence that her first use of magic was to steal an entire birthday cake from her fridge and eat a piece before it was to be presented to her older brother.

“That’s not magic!” Seamus said with a grin, “Just good sleight-of-hand!”

“Well I was upstairs the whole time!” Asami said with a huff, then paused and laughed with him, realizing he wasn’t trying to be mean.

Yousef Jones, a boy who seemed ready to eat the table itself once he was done with his plate, paused enough in his eating to introduce himself to them all (for he was sitting nearby) when Rey asked his name. Asami looked at his appetite with a rather sickened gaze, and Ginny shook her head and said “Quite like Ron, honestly,” and that prompted talk of who Ron was and how Ginny had so many siblings, all of whom had come through Hogwarts, and how many did Yousef have? and the boy gulped down his mouthful and said none, and they all nodded.

Chatting turned to what fun there was to expect, with Rey and Ginny and Seamus growing more and more animated over classes, over Quidditch--yes, Quidditch! Don’t know what that is? Well, you get to fly on brooms--yes, on brooms!--and there’s different balls, and--

There was a yelp from another first year girl sitting nearby, Mackenzie Elmwood, who had short-cropped hair and now very wide eyes, as Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington popped his nearly-headless head through the definitely-solid table. Mackenzie coughed, wincing over whatever she’d been halfway through chewing, and gulped, looking almost as pale as Sir Nicholas, who offered a cheerful “Hello!” and drifted around to see the new first years. Mackenzie looked at them all sheepishly, and Rey smiled back, saying in gentle terms, “I nearly fell out of my seat when he did that to me.”

Neville chuckled, eating and chatting and perfectly content to sit and drink in the Great Hall. It was almost right, now; they were sitting and eating, the fire crackling, the candles floating merrily, the night sky overhead calm and clouded, the conversation pleasant and lighthearted, the ghosts whizzing about however they pleased, and the only thing wrong--

Neville glanced over at the teachers. Snape sat stoically at their head, eating upon his throne. Rey laughed something at Ginny, glanced up at Nev, and paused, then said something.

“Hm?” he said, turning his gaze to her.

“I said, how’s the food this year?” she smiled. In an instant, he knew that she was taking his attention away from Snape, and she knew he knew, and nonetheless it worked because she held him fast in her brilliant eyes.

“As great as every other year,” Neville said, glancing once more at Snape but directing his attention back to the meal.

Soon enough, the food had become desserts, and once again Neville had no idea when that had happened, but only saw it after the fact. The first years around were all uttering another round of “woah!”s at it and gorging themselves. Soon enough after that, everyone had slowed down, and finally seemed done, gulping down the last morsels and slowing in conversation, finding it harder to talk with a full belly and a blissfully tired head.

Another great CLAP! sounded through the room, and the remaining food on the plates vanished. All talking ceased; all eyes turned back to the head of the room. Snape stood slowly from his chair, and Neville’s heart sunk against his ribs.

Rey’s hand found his again, unconsciously.

“Now that we are all fed and watered,” Snape droned, and Neville shivered, remembering the words echo from a far greater Headmaster’s mouth years before, “there are a few start-of-term announcements.

“First years, please note that the Forbidden Forest is expressly off-limits. A few of our older students, take heed of that as well.”

Snape’s gaze drifted towards the Gryffindor table, and Ginny rolled her eyes; the twins weren’t here this year. Neville shivered.

“Secondly, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has reminded me to inform each and every one of you--”

He sounds so bored by this, Neville thought; he’s just going through the motions.

“--that magic of any sort is forbidden outside of classrooms. We are not here to make great messes, after all.”  
His gaze drifted again towards Gryffindor. Neville glanced towards the other tables, seeing nervous eyes cast back at him, and unfettered smirks from some at Slytherin.

“Quidditch trials will be the second week of term,” Snape said, his voice monotonous, a hum, a sigh, “Anyone interested in playing for their house should contact Madame Hooch.

“Lastly,” and Neville’s ears flattened to his head, because now Snape had vigor to his voice, and stood straighter, and had a cold dominion about him that was impossible to ignore. He was finally in the part of the speech that held interest to him. “I introduce to you two new teachers.”

Neville’s blood froze, following Snape’s hand to the pair who stood up from the end of the table. Rey wheezed in a breath next to him. Ginny was a pale outline across the table.

“Alecto Carrow, Professor of Muggle Studies, and Amycus Carrow, Professor of Dark Arts.”

The two were faces known all too well. They would be burned forever into Neville and Rey’s minds. They were Death Eaters, among those who had invaded the school when Dumbledore fell.

The room was cold and spinning around them.

“Let us be aware,” Snape said, addressing the room at large again as the Carrows sat down, “that the world outside these walls has grown dangerous. These are difficult and dark times, and they require the best of each of us. Regardless of the house you have been sorted into, remember that we are all here for the same two goals: education, and betterment. Remember that we are here together; that we will have one another’s backs through these trying times; that we are, all of us, a family.”

Rey’s arm was tense, and Neville gripped her hand tight. She squeezed almost ferociously hard.

“So: off to bed, for tomorrow is the start of a grand new year for each of us. Once again, welcome to Hogwarts.”

He gestured out towards the doors, and there was a murmur of confusion. “There’s no-- song?” Seamus murmured, looking at 

Neville for answers, and Neville shrugged, just as perplexed.

“Of course not,” Ginny said opposite them, face twitching with rage; “You can’t imagine _them_ singing along, can you?”

Rey was deathly silent next to him, and Neville cleared his throat, getting up and smiling at the first years nearby.

“Come on!” he said, voice far more cheerful than his knotted-up stomach should’ve been able to muster. “Time to see where we’ll be staying!”

The others got up around him, just as they were standing at the other tables, and without another glance back at that cursed table at the head of the Great Hall, Neville trotted out, youthful students at his heels. Rey stuck at his side, starting to speak again when Mackenzie Elmwood asked her something.

A shiver ran through Neville, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight. He could feel, from the far end of the hall, Snape’s eyes over him for a moment. They drifted away again, but the chill didn’t let go of his spine.

  
  



End file.
